This probably isn’t the weight loss posting that people had in mind when they asked me to post this. I probably still wouldn’t have but many people have repeatedly pressed me to do so, which led to the nagging thoughts at the edge of my consciousness that just won’t go away. I’ve been through enough to know that’s the Universe trying to talk to you. So, in essence what I’m trying to say is that if you think this is a shiney ass infomercial-like spiel, then for chrissakes save yourself the trouble. It isn’t. I’m not sure why anyone would want to read this to be honest. But that being said, I’m not looking for attention. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not here to argue the validity of my experiences or how I could’ve done them better. If I hadn’t been asked so much, you would still have no inkling of what I really went through regarding this. Don’t judge me. Don’t waste your time. I don’t care.
HOW I GAINED THE WEIGHT:
I’ve always been an emotional eater. It developed as a coping mechanism to help me deal with my childhood, which was always traumatic and full of conflict, and later helped me get through college, which was just as bad. I have never had a time in my life where I’ve felt safe, stable and secure. I just simply do not know that experience.
So, I was always a bit chubby. When I got into college, I put on the “Freshman 15” (for those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a term to describe how college kids tend to put on a bit of weight their freshman year due to having a buffet like eating plan and constant access to things like pizza and subs and the like). However, stress had a lot to do with that too. By the end of college, I held three concurrent part-time jobs, anywhere from 15-18 credits a semester, I participated full-time in the co-ed Arts frat I was a part of and held an office, and participated fully in Festival Choir, the open choir of the university I attended. Add on to this the near constant straining fear of my car breaking down at any moment (and it did that a lot), having to utterly depend on financial aid refunds to live (the jobs didn’t pay shit), and a physically, verbally & emotionally abusive relationship and perhaps you get an idea how the weight slowly piled itself on. I never had time to breathe. I felt like I was always trying to hold things together and get through. I had no help. No support system. No safety net.
Somehow (and I still don’t fucking know how), I made it through in 8 semesters with no summer courses. I had to sacrifice my coveted Theatre minor to do so, which still stings, but I did it. I think one of the only things that kept me going was the idea that all I had to do was just suffer, just get through, just push myself a little bit harder, just put up with a little bit more and once I graduated, everything would be OK. I’d have a good paying job and money and I could put it all behind me. I stayed in a physically abusive relationship with someone who never helped ease my mind, but always kept me in a state of near hysteria and panic because I was more easily manipulated that way. Why did I do this? Because, I didn’t have the money to live on my own and my past experiences have left me hopelessly co-dependent. This meant for most of my sophomore year I lived in a doublewide trailer with no heat or water, and in the summer was filled with the fumes of animal waste that I desperately tried to help clean up. I still blame myself for not doing more, for not saving that poor dog when family politics left me with no choice but to watch it suffer like I was. I still hate myself for that, but it ended up in a good home with someone who loves it and it’s living out the rest of its life positively lavished with love and attention. I was not so lucky.
Nevertheless, my last semester our relationship ended and I spent the rest of the semester basically homeless, hopping from dorm to apartment…wherever people would let me stay. I kept my clothes in my car in the backseat. I still dealt with sometimes outlandish vocal abuse from this individual and backlash from fellow fraternity members who disagreed with my choices and were taken in by my ex’s need to make himself look less like a villain. I was also seen as a burden, which I’m used to. I’ve been taught to believe that I am a burden to everyone I have ever relied on in any way, with the exception of Thomas, for my entire life. That helped fuel the need to emotionally eat and I gained even more weight.
So in FL I still had this naïve idea that I’d be guaranteed a nice, high-paying job and I’d be comfortable and everything would finally be safe, stable and secure for me. I lived with my mother, brothers, and her abusive boyfriend whom abused my brothers and sometimes myself basically since they first got together. I was also sexually molested by him in high school and very narrowly escaped being raped by him. Needless to say, I did not like this man and did not like having to live with him, especially since he walked around acting like he had every right to make our lives a living hell and acted like what he did to me never happened. I hated this man with all of my Heart. This man didn’t like me either because I have NEVER been afraid to scream right back at him and was never able to be badgered into submission. So, once the novelty of having another “child” in the home wore off and since I couldn’t find a job right away and the anxiety began to influence more and more of my decisions, the tension in the home rose even more as my depression and anxiety rose. After awhile, I capitulated and took a temp job at a factory where my mother worked. I worked hard, I worked very very hard but I quickly found that it exhausted me so much physically and emotionally that I had no energy to look for other jobs, better jobs in my free time. I simply ate and escaped reality by playing Second Life. My ordeals with people in Second Life are another topic for another time, but suffice it to say that I helped to financially support a virtual new age sim there that I believed in with all my Heart and continued to support until 2010, which put another strain on my limited finances. It turned out to be a bunch of snake oil peddlers who were basically using me.
That temp job lasted until I quit and moved up here and I will be honest, I am not cut out for that type of work. I am humble and I worked hard, but it took so much out of me. It burned me out and pushed my levels of anxiety to mind-numbing heights, but the prevalent attitude of everyone around me was always “Suck it up. Stop complaining. We don’t want to hear about it.” I am a good person and I always try to be humble and do what’s right, so I did. But those emotions and that pain and that exhaustion and anxiety still grew and grew inside of me, festering, along with a deep deep rage. So when I was finally able to move up to Rehoboth Beach with Thomas, I thought once again that everything would finally be OK now. My life would finally be stable, safe and secure after everything I’d gone through. I’d be able to make a new start and put my terrible terrible past behind me and make a new life with Thomas by the beach and everything would be amazing, the end.
It didn’t turn out that way. We were able to stay for about 6 months at the beach. At first, I looked for jobs with gusto and I found one at an Eckerd. It still wasn’t at the level I deserved, but I tried to be pragmatic and humble. I went to the interview, got all my affairs in order and on the very first day, was hit with an anxiety attack so hard that I was crying my eyes out, terrified to go. But, I am a good girl and pushed myself through it and went anyway. The job itself wasn’t bad at all, but my anxiety made it unbearable and my co-dependency which had only slowly gotten worse, drove me half out of my mind. I only worked one day. I was so ashamed of myself that I didn’t even go back to collect the check. I was never able to find another job and spent most of the rest of that time, locked up in the bedroom we were staying in, alternatively looking for jobs and avoiding doing so by escaping reality or working feverishly on my fledgling Art business. I never came out. I never allowed myself to enjoy my time at the beach. After 6 months, we were forced to move in with his parents. I once again felt like a burden; I felt useless, I felt unwanted and very out of place. Thomas found a job right away (the reason why we moved back), but I still tried and tried and tried. I couldn’t find anything and with every passing day I felt more and more unloved, more and more like an unwanted, annoying burden, more and more depressed, more and more full of anxiety, I withdrew inside of myself and never left Thomas’ basement bedroom except to use the bathroom, shower, and occasionally eat when Thomas was home. I worked furiously during that time on expanding my Art biz, pushing myself to exhaustion every single day, never stopping, never relaxing. I tried to minimize the burden I felt I was putting on his family by making myself scarce. And my weight ballooned up to 240lbs.
By the time Thomas and I had moved into our condo in early 2011, I was 240 lbs. I felt ugly inside and out, I felt unwanted, I felt like a burden, I felt like I was a failure. My money reserves had long since dried up and the sharks for my loans came calling. No matter what I did, I felt like I failed at being a responsible adult, at doing what I thought was right. I felt like I was once again getting it from all sides; his family thought I was a burden and expediated the process of us buying a condo to get us (or maybe mostly me because Thomas had lived with them for years) out of their house, my family thought I was a fuck-up and made sure I knew about it, no one in the Faery Art genre would give me the time of day in regards to licensing or furthering myself financially, no matter what I did I couldn’t find a job and to be honest by that time, the depression and anxiety started taking me over. So did the rage. Most of 2011 was spent flipping from one angry rage into suicidal depression and back again. I finally had a space to express that rage and it came out….and just kept coming.
I figured this whole time, and for much of my life, I’ve only tried to please others, only tried to get them to see me, to understand my talent and to believe in me and give me a chance…..but all for naught. I kept doing what I thought others expected of me. I kept doing what I thought good girls did. I kept hiding my pain and anxiety, and I eventually believed that I was not worthy to be a functional, normal human being because of it. I was carrying around A LOT of pain. Finally I just said FUCK IT. If people are going to see me as a burden anyway, if they’re going to caterwaul about how much of a screw up I am and so-and-so is so much better, so much more successful at being a contributing member of society than I am, if I can’t find a job anyway, if my bills are going to default and my credit go to hell anyway….well, I might as well just give up trying and do what the fuck I want to do. What I’ve always wanted to do. What makes ME happy, just ME. At first, I thought that was just Art because I was so utterly unused to the idea of living making choices simply for myself…..but as time went on, I remembered that I have always dreamed of being famous for ALL of my talents; not just my Art, but my acting, singing, and eventually writing abilities as well. This dream I’ve had since I was a child was half-forgotten and dusty from being pushed aside in favor of doing what everyone else thought I should do. But I was already a villain in their eyes and no matter what I did, I couldn’t convince them otherwise. Plus, it was very clear to me that they didn’t care about how much I was hurting, how much pain I was carrying around and how it began to overtake my daily life. I was supposed to just suck it up and move on, which I tried to do for years and years and years.
My thought processes were, well if I’m a failure as a human being in their eyes anyway, I might as well do what I want and they can think I’m crazy and have something else to squawk about. And they did. I gave my haters A LOT of fuel before I learned the valuable lesson of not casting your pearls before the swine. You can have dreams, but if the only thing that happens when you try to talk about them and vocalize them is that you’re met with animosity, intimidation, cruelty, derision or you’re just plain ignored as one of the masses with a cliché dream that’s larger than life….then what the fuck is the use of wasting your breath? It took me all of 2012 to learn that lesson. I should have learned it earlier. I’ve always been very, very psychically gifted and it’s something I’ve learned to live with since I was a little girl. Almost as long as I’ve known I was gifted, I also was taught that I had to hide it from everyone, especially those closest to me or else be faced with unrelenting pain. Life is painful enough on its own, so I hid it. However, there was a time during which all of this other stuff was happening around 2010-2011 where I thought it would be healthy for me to live more genuinely and come out of the psychic closet. I was only met with more of the same experiences I had as a little girl; derision, cruelty, and the whole “She’s fucking crazy. She’s out of touch with reality…blah blah etc etc.” I hear that a lot in case you can’t tell lol.
Well, around the end of 2011 I decided to rekindle my dream of being famous and to actively go for it. Just for me, just because it’s something I’ve ALWAYS hungered for and when I’ve had the money or someone willing to help me, I’ve always tried for. Acting, Singing, Art….I’ve auditioned for things to do with them all. I began to accept myself as a multi-talented being and accept that all my talents had validity and they had merit, even if no one else thought so. And so I tried in every way I could, short of the casting couch. That shit is not on my radar and never will be. I am a lady and a very talented and intelligent person. I will never lower myself to that.
I’m not really sure how to put this next part into words in a concise and clear manner, but I’ll do my best. Throughout all of these events, all of this imposed conflict into my life, I had begun to be more and more depressed. It got to the point where depression was my de facto state of being, I had to fight all the time; I had to fight against others around me who vehemently disagreed with my choices, I had to fight against the world who thought I was as crazy as a loon whenever I tried to speak about my dreams, I had to fight against other artists who would be so incredibly mean because of their intimidation of me (I didn’t know it was intimidation then!) and assorted other stupid things probably having to do with Enchanted Visions in whatever way, I had to fight for every rare sale I made, I had to fight to justify what I was doing, to justify to myself that I was not what everyone painted me to be; some ridiculous, flighty failure who is completely out of touch with reality and is only good for laying on her back and popping out babies. I had to fight to justify my Dreams to myself….and then the suicidal tendencies started creeping in…and as 2012 passed by and all my efforts to gain a foothold in Hollywood seemed for naught or seemed to make me look like a fool no matter how hard I tried…..I began to fight every day to keep myself alive, to keep myself from throwing myself over the edge of our patio railing which is three stories up. I cannot tell you how many times I stood looking over the edge of that railing, looking at the ground, wondering how fast it would be, how quick and painless it would be…that all I needed was just a split second of bravery and my neck would break right away and it’d all be over. All the soul-crushing pain. All the derision. All the disappointment. All the cruel rejection. All the mind-numbing failure. And it would all be over, I’d be free. And I’d never be a burden to anyone ever again…
Only stubbornness kept me alive. Only stubbornness made me slowly close the screen door and the patio door with shaky hands, usually with angry tears streaming down my face so fast I could hardly see straight. And ironically, it was that same stubbornness that caused me to lose weight.
There is a difference between having a dream and getting lost in its fantasy and having a dream and looking at reality to see what you can do to make it happen. I finally sat myself down and said look, you want to be famous. You ARE going to be famous if for no other reason than you will never, NEVER stop until you are. You are going to be a Hollywood star and the whole world will know your name. That is what I am going to do for myself because I deserve it and I could do a whole hell of a lot of good with that money and make the world a better place. But, what you’re doing just isn’t working and straining Thomas’ already strained finances. There must be a better way to go about this task.
Well, the only thing I could come up with was losing weight. I was 240 lbs when I moved into the condo in January 2011 and by the time of this self-talk, I had managed to get it to around 225 lbs. But I was honest with myself. Even with my looks (I have an incredibly low self-esteem so I was going on what Thomas constantly told me) and my talents, still the best I could hope for with the Hollywood business the way it is were some memorable character roles. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be the leading lady. I wanted to be the one they roll out the red carpet for, the one who gets to wear all the pretty dresses and have people clamor for her autograph and picture. I wanted to have fans adore me and go into a mad frenzy for my latest movie, artwork, book, or song. I wanted those ingénue roles….and at 240lbs, it just wasn’t practical.
I also realized that if I was really serious about being an actress, just having experience and almost a minor’s worth of college credits in Acting wasn’t enough for the ingénue roles I wanted. I needed to understand that I was going into business with my body. That my body was and is my greatest business asset and I needed to do whatever it took to get it to a place where it was competitive in that field, just like entrepreneurs grow their business to be competitive in their respective fields. So I decided to lose weight. And that was that.
Lots and lots of hard work. I can’t stress that enough. It doesn’t take a month of hard work or a year of hard work, it is a lifestyle change. It is a commitment, like you are getting married with yourself. After my experiences, I was and am so determined to have a life I am proud of, a life of success and attainment that there simply was no other option. I did what I had to do. No matter how many times I was derailed by my depression or anxiety or our broken AC (and that did have an effect lol) or this mystery illness that leaves me zapped of energy and barely able to move, I kept going. I was cruel to myself. I was unrelenting. But no one can look at my experiences and ever tell me I wasn’t dedicated. I am so tenacious that it’s practically poisonous.
What everyone reading this has to understand is that life will probably never be as clean cut and easy as it seems in your mind. I constantly give myself shit for not exercising more, even when my body just can’t take anymore and collapses from burn out, and mostly because the way it looks in my mind is so much different than what it ends up being…and I fucking hate that with the fire of a thousand suns. But I can’t do anything about it. I can only do what I can, with what I have, where I am. And using that logic I’ve learned that no matter what your track record looks like, no matter how many times you fall off, the only thing that matters is how many times you’ve picked yourself up and kept trying again. No, I’m not the fastest at losing weight. No, I’m not some cookie cutter quasi-fitness guru that can shove tip after tip down your throat like steps in a recipe. Weight loss isn’t a fucking recipe, it’s not a clearly bulleted process. It’s fucking hell. No matter whether you smile and hide that fact under a glaze of whatever sheen you decide to add to it or whether you’re just being honest, its fucking hell. But I’m willing to do that for myself, I’m willing to put myself through that suffering if it means getting closer to making my Dream come True. Because I deserve that…and if Life isn’t willing to give that to me, then I’ll make it happen my damn Self.
This is the part you’re not going to like to hear and the reason why when people kept asking me to write this, I was kinda like “Why do you really want to know?”
*sigh*…Every step in my weight loss journey has been a battle. I have felt for a very long time like Life is trying to hoist this existence upon my shoulders that doesn’t describe me in the slightest, like my future is pre-ordained; almost as if if I go with the flow, I would’ve ended up even more obese than I was, with a few kids, completely dependent on family for money, with all of my Dreams zapped into obscurity through a hazy gray fog that I was damned to live out the rest of my existence under. Mediocrity. People have been assuming that I am mediocre since I was a child. I have had that stupid concept pushed down my throat and shoved on my shoulders for as long as I can remember. It hurts to just be alive, it hurts for me to do the normal things that other people take for granted every single fucking day and every time I try to vocalize that I’m met with a flurry of “Shut up!”, “Suck it up!”, “You’re overreacting!”. I refuse to believe that I have gone through all of this suffering simply to drown in quiet disappointment and watch my Dreams slowly die. I will fight with every last ounce of energy in me against that concept that everyone around me seems to hold about me…and I have. I’ve waged war. I’ve used that rage to fuel my drive to lose weight far past the time when my body would’ve collapsed on its own merits (and whatever malady it is that zaps my energy away constantly). Every exercise session was a battle in a war to make my Dreams come True. Granted, I still have no fucking idea what to do to get a foothold in Hollywood once the weight is gone but I figured it will come to me.
In fighting to lose this weight, I have waged a war against my body and against everything and everyone who has ever held me back, ever hurt me or caused me pain, who has ever done me wrong. It is the ultimate expression of my rage, but also my dedication and unrelenting determination. It is a common occurrence for me to be so exhausted, to have expended so much energy during an exercise session that I am covered in so much sweat that it drops off of me in bullets and I can barely stand up. It is also a common occurrence in this household that when I go to shower afterwards, usually a few hours after exercising because I’m so exhausted that I collapse on the couch in all my sweaty glory and can barely move, Thomas has to be in the bathroom with me; sometimes holding me up in the shower, sometimes being there to make sure I don’t fall down or pass out in the bathtub and accidentally drown. He usually also has to prepare dinner for me on those days because I just can not move.
It was also a common occurrence for Thomas to have to make sure that I ate. For most of 2012 and the first part of 2013, I would eat maybe two meals a day at most but usually just one involving no more than about 350 calories. I had found a way to make a vegetarian wrap that was filling, quite good, and very very low on calories. And that’s all I ate. But, when my body would plateau and sometimes it felt like my body fought me every step of the fucking way, I would starve myself to get over the hump and down into the next lowest 10lb weight bracket, to push myself over the plateau if that’s what I felt I needed to do. It was common for me to not eat over 900 cal in one day. I would try to get to at least 1500, but I never could. My stomach had shrunk by that point and gotten used to the low caloric intake, but in addition I developed very serious and deep reservations about eating. There were times when my throat would literally close up mid-meal and I would start to have an anxiety attack. I would try to push myself to eat the whole meal because I have somewhat of a starvation complex from my childhood, but I would start crying my eyes out and would start physically wretching even at the thought of eating more. It wasn’t pretty. It was a very ugly situation to see. I really hated that Thomas ever had to witness that. And bless him, he’s seen everything. He knows better than anyone what I’ve went through and what I’ve sacrificed.
In addition, there have been numerous times that I’ve pushed myself so hard exercising (usually doing Jackknives) that the next day the muscles throughout my whole body hurt so much I can barely move. I have a cane that helps me walk when that happens. Usually I need it for a day or two before things start to settle down. I am very very thankful for that cane, because without it, I wouldn’t have been able to walk at all. I’ve also been known to deny myself showers until I exercise as a sort of mental terror tactic. I am a very judiciously clean person, I am OCD about keeping my body clean. So, no matter how exhausted my body is, the idea of not being able to shower drives me insane. It’s a cruel, but effective tactic. Even when my body simply cannot keep up with workouts (every other day) due to exhaustion or whatever malady it is I have that zaps my energy and makes me constantly fatigued, I still refuse to let myself shower until I’ve exercised. Sometimes it takes a few days and trust me no one knows that’s grosser than me having put myself through it….but it works. It keeps me on track, even if it’s not as often as I would like.
As of writing this, I have calmed down somewhat because I am now about 20lbs away from my weight loss goal. I plan on getting to this goal of 150lbs, seeing where my body is and if more weight loss is needed to make myself competitive for ingénue roles, and begin to focus more on toning muscle. Thank the Universe my shape, which I’ve been told so many times looks like Jessica Rabbit’s, can carry and distribute weight very well. When I posted bathing suit pictures in May I kept having people practically beg me to stop losing weight and I thought to myself, wow it’s so weird they keep saying that because even when I reach my weight loss goal, I’ll still weigh more than a lot of ingénue actresses. Why do they keep telling me to stop?
Unfortunately it has taken a long time for my brain to catch up with my body, and it still hasn’t completely. I still see my pictures and think about what needs to be changed, what needs to be burned off so I can be a competitive actress, etc. Every single thought in my head has to do with that. I am so driven that I don’t have time to think of anything else. Only my weight loss and my success. It’s my whole life. I am driven almost to the point of being a sociopath about it and viciously cut down anything that gets in my way of my progress…even if it’s my own body.
This is the part I think everyone wanted me to talk about. As far as exercise, I managed to get ahold of a recumbent stationary exercise bike off of our local Freecycle. I can’t get the digital controls to work, so I just tightened it manually and the resistance is enough to have a very marked effect. When my body no longer responds by way of weight loss to the bike, I switch to my exercise regime on the Wii fit. It’s the first one that came out and I use the board thingie that comes with it. I start out with yoga, and do a few strength training exercises. Every once in a while I will do the Boxing or the Dance Step or Hula Hoop, the ones designed for cardio, but I’m usually so weak that I can’t. I usually end it with Jackknives. I try to do the full 100 count and can do it at most once every two or three sessions and then I’ll do the 30 count in between. My body just can’t take it more than that. I usually do about 25 minutes for each exercise session, whether bike or Wii fit. I try to exercise every other day, but my track record is usually not that stable.
For food, I’ve cut out all preservatives, pretty much all GMO’s (genetically modified organisms), high fructose corn syrup, fast food, MSG and white sugar. I also do not eat a lot of meat anymore, although I’ve been eating a lot of fish (sushi) since the beginning of 2013. I used to eat very little grain carbs and still don’t really other than organic bread and sushi rice. My body has gotten so used to eating this way that my occasional oral dalliance with the nearest Wendy’s leaves my digestive tract screaming at me and me swearing to Thomas that I’m never eating fast food again!....Yeah, that lasts for a few months until I forget again, lol.
I don’t eat any junk food or really anything you can buy at your local run-of-the-mill supermarket. I buy organic and free trade as much as humanly possible. If I can’t, I don’t eat it. I’ve cut down my meals to a handful of ones I know that I can make completely organically, I don’t eat a great variety of things because I feel like it tends to confuse your body. That’s just my personal opinion. I drink a lot of oolong tea with organic wildflower honey and I use coconut oil a lot in cooking (it’s a very very yummy and light oil!) and because I’m usually so tired or busy trying to succeed in my chosen career, I usually buy things that are easy to make. I use cayenne pepper whenever possible. I take an organic, plant-based multi-vitamin and acai supplement. I drink a LOT of coconut water, I freaking love that stuff.
I still order out from our local Italian place or Chinese place from time to time, but even then always with an eye to what’s healthier…sometimes I slip though and order cheddar cheese drenched French fries. It’s totally worth it. ;) I won’t let Thomas order anywhere where they use too many preservatives or things that are blatantly unhealthy. I mean ordering out to begin with you’re bound to run into food that has GMO’s or isn’t organically sourced, but under the circumstances I do OK. I also try to drink a lot of water to flush that stuff out of my system. I use a water bottle with a built in charcoal water purifier. I use a Brita pitcher too, but they don’t filter out fluoride which is dumb. Another personal opinion.
UNFORTUNATE SIDE EFFECTS:
As of writing this I have officially lost 70 lbs. I’ve done all of this without the supervision of a doctor, physical trainer, nutritionist, or homeopathist. Why? Because I don’t have the money to. Simple as that. But do you really think that was going to hold me back? I’ve got nothing to lose and years of being suicidally depressed has left me without fear of death or sickness.
I could not in good conscience end this without urging you to see a doctor before embarking on any weight loss on a major scale. Even if you are like me and hiss at the thought of prescription, chemically based pharmaceuticals, just to have a professional keep tabs on your progress is a good idea. I realize that my situation is singular. I realize that my poverty is more extreme and that most people can afford to at least see a doctor. So you should. Please. At the very least make sure you have a doctor keeping an eye on you.
As for myself, I haven’t come through this completely unharmed. My depression and suicidal tendencies have gotten MUCH better, but they still manifest themselves once in awhile but I no longer beg Thomas to buy a lock for the patio door while he is at work. My anxiety is touch and go. I will be completely honest when I say that I have definetly developed anorexic tendencies and attitudes towards eating. I am lucky and blessed to have Thomas and another close friend keeping a hawk’s eye on my eating habits. Between the both of them, they can make sure that I eat semi-regularly even if it’s not nearly as often as they’d prefer. I am lucky and deeply appreciative for that much and for how much they obviously care about me.
In addition, I’ve developed digestive intestinal issues. It just seems like things were so much easier to digest when I was larger and ironically eating terribly unhealthy food. I’ve also had bad, bad bouts with insomnia since the beginning of 2013. I have no idea if that specifically has anything to do with my weight loss or not. I’ve also developed this “mystery malady” that leaves me almost constantly fatigued. I think I’ve had it in one form or another at least since I was attending college, and it makes the simplest things so hard to do…like basic chores. Doing the dishes or vacuuming will exhaust me for hours…forget about exercising. That just kicks my ass. I have no idea whether it’s anemia or chronic fatigue syndrome or possibly having to do with my depression. I haven’t seen a doctor since I was in college so I have no way of knowing. I just try to work around it, like I’ve learned to do with every obstacle that comes in my path. If I can’t kill it and slice it down, I work around it.
So, I know this probably isn’t anywhere near what you all expected or maybe even wanted to hear. I had no intention of sharing this with the world and you all may still not have known about what I’ve went through if I wasn’t pressed to blog about it. But all I can do is be honest. I hope it helps either way.