happy holidays

If the holidays were all about food, and food making the event, then it would follow that my happiest holidays were when I was eating like a fiend. But that is not the case. My happiest holidays are when I am not choking down all the sugar I can find after I'm already beyond full. They are when I've been forced to focus on the scene beyond the buffet: the lights on the tree, the candles, the people around me. To notice how other women take the time to fix their hair and do their nails, how they put on makeup and a spritz of perfume.
The thing about me though is that once I dive into the wheat and sugar, I could care less about anyone else in the room. In fact, I wish they would leave so I could hang out by myself with the feast. And I'm usually uncomfortable and finding it hard to breath (wheat allergy), and I feel like crap emotionally, and I am bursting out of whatever moo moo I've draped over my hulking form.
I am so grateful to be free of wheat and sugar this year. Slowly my body is changing.

The numbers on the scale have begun creeping downward. I am still surprized when I see pictures of myself - holy crap! I'm wearing a fat suit! But it's turning around. I don't have to be afraid any more. Actually, there's one thing I do have to fear: the little voice in my head that says I can handle one cookie.

one day at a time

After a long absence from this blog, I am back with an update. It turns out that I've chosen a time consuming task. The image in the mirror is the tip of the iceburg. Why do you eat after you're full? Why don't you exercise? If the answers are truly that the food tastes good and that you don't have time, then any number of diets will work for you. The truth is that most reasonable food plans will help you lose weight if you stick to them.
If the answers to these questions lie deeper than temporary comfort or convenience, if you find that you cannot choose wisely even when you "want" to, if there is a block that is more powerful than the urge to change, then you may have a problem that is not going to be solved by a new book. Unless the new book is about changing your mind first, then letting your body change. I'm following a new plan myself.
I'm in counselling again, I'm attending on-line support group meetings, and I'm reading a helpful book. But there are many good books out there to address the inside. They've been around for awhile but they're getting more attention these days as the obesity epidemic has the country bursting out of its fat jeans.

i am still doing it!

OK. Here's what I've done. I have abstained from wheat for awhile now. I messed around with the health food wheat free desserts and felt like crap. I am not talking about emotionally, I mean physically. Immediately. Well, the next morning I had to hold onto the dresser and bedpost to hoist myself into a somewhat standing position. And then I get the idea that what I need is more sugar. Yes. But I did not act on that idea.
So far.
In other news, I went swimming yesterday with my daughter at the YMCA. And then I went again today. I didn't think I was doing much but whoa! After I got out of the pool, I could really feel that my muscles were fatigued. I was just jumping around in my own personal water aerobics self led class, and then did some ballet barre work, then a couple of laps... you know... nothing much. Except that I was in there for about an hour and I am sore now.
So swimming: check.
Making wonderful meals from fresh organic food: check -- not every meal but a lot.
Writing down the stories in my head: check
I think that next I'll try going for a long walk in nature.

And what did it take to get me here?
Realizing that I don't have to be able to eat sugar like a normal person, and that there are others out there like me who can't do it either. And talking to them.
Knowing that I'm not alone.
That's what it took.
And now I'm crossing things off my list that were just idle musings before.

Soon you'll be reading about me in a national newspaper:
"Fat Housewife Saves Orphans from a Burning Fire!"
"Fat Housewife Foils Dastardly Plot by Evil Nemesis!"

well... I'm not doing that.

I just re-read my previous entry about the 10 week body sculpting class. And well... I'm not doing that. That was not a good fit. The good news is that it took only 5-7 minutes for me to figure it out and I hadn't paid anyone any money.

I'm doing it!

I realized that I'm doing it! I have been off wheat and sugar for a few weeks now and I have been making meals: delicious homemade meals with organic vegetables and protein. I have been writing a story. I have taken a few walks. Wow. It's amazing that letting go of food that's really bad for me is leading to me being able to function at a much higher level.

Ummmmm.....

I signed up for a 10 week body sculpting challenge class. Five days a week early in the morning. But it will be my time. 6:30 - 7:30 am. That's when I can do it with no issues of child care.
I had a little dairy tonight. And I don't know if it led to my overeating later for sure. But I feel like a Hobbit in that I have dinner number one and dinner number two. Plus a bowl of cereal.
I was just so sad. And I'm mad at Margie for dying. So there you go. Time for another round of dinner followed by cereal. That makes sense.


The class starts this Monday.

first spin class

I went to my first spinning class on Sunday.
I made it through 25 minutes before I could no longer remain seated on the bike.
The instructor was very supportive as I tip-toed past her; she told me I'd done a great job for the first time.
On the way home I vacillated between holding onto the sense of hope and forward motion that I'd started out with, and jumping with both feet into despair and isolation.
In the end, I made light of it. I told many people about it.
Next time I will take along my gel bike seat cover.

I had some sugar free dairy tonight and feel icky. But no wheat or sugar for about a week or so. I am starting to feel lighter; my stomach does not feel so heavy (more out than down), and I have a spring in my step. I can walk without feeling like I'm going to keel over.

my friend

so i was out with a friend of mine and we were chatting and she's a quite forthright sort of person -- tells it like she sees it sort of gal -- and i mention that i had come to terms with the fact that i'd been doing a good deal of yelling recently and had needed to apologize to my husband and daughter. i admitted that the driving force behind my discontent was not my situation but that i have been feeling sooooo awful in my own skin because of my food intake and what it's done to my body and mind. i am so heavy and frustrated just walking around the house that if anyone gets in my way or makes things harder to do, i just about lose my mind. so my friend asks well then why have i been eating like crap in the first place. and i answer her that it's because i have a problem. she seemed to appreciate my honesty. she suggested that every time i tell myself that it's ok and that i'm fine, that i may want to do the opposite of what i'm rationalizing. i agreed but added that every time i thought things through and decided that i was fine, that i really believed that i was on the road to recovery and choosing the right path. in short, every time i came to a different conclusion i was sure that this time i had found the answer. but obviously i have been wrong. wow, she agreed, that sounds like a problem. how does that work? so i spent some time talking about the mental mechanisms that surround and propel someone like me around food, and i'm talking about how i'm actually on the right path right now because i have abstained from eating wheat and sugar for one week so far and already my mind and body are beginning to feel better. i say that the next step may be a willingness to follow a food plan, but i am not there yet. and it dawns on me as we're having this conversation over a lunch of sushi... wait for it.... don't get ahead of me here... it dawns on me that i'm eating sushi rice (made with sugar) and dipping it in soy sauce (made with wheat)!
Oh. My. God.
needless to say, i did not mention this to my friend across the table because i just couldn't bear to have her think that i was even more delusional than she realized.

done

I did it. I'm doing it. I'm done.
Done with dieting and not dieting, with trying to control my food and trying to not control my food.
I decided to join the support group and followed that up with a call to a friend in the group to ask for help.
And today I followed the food plan. Not to achieve mastery over anything but as complete surrender. I can not do this any more on my own. I can not buy any more diet books.
I'm done.
234.8 pounds. Yep.
waist 46 1/2 inches. Indeed.
That's what happened to my life.

I had a thought today after I had spoken with some gathered friends about how I am really doing these days - poorly -- that maybe I can't do any better than I'm doing right now. I thought that maybe I am actually operating at my full potential just getting through this much pain.
This occurred to me after I told my friends that I was eating things that make me not be able to breath, and that I had the idea to stop taking my medication (you know, the one that keeps my car on the road) because it doesn't feel like it matters. That's when I realized that I am so very sad. I'm sad and I'm tired. And I talk with other friends and they are not Margie, and no one will ever be Margie but her and she's not here.
And what I've been doing is drawing these lines in the sand with a big stick and pontificating about the merits of following the lines and I just can't. The waves come in and wash them away. And I'm left holding my stick, in the middle of a sentence, more than a little embarrassed by my lack of line.
I tried again to follow a food plan and I did perfectly well until I went out to dinner...
But here's another thing. I don't hate myself and I have not had to eat since I got home. I am not hungry. I ate like crap at the restaurant (let's just say that I'm surprised that I can still breath) but I'm full now. I'm done. And since I don't seem to have much say over this process, I think I'll stop trying to control it and try to enjoy the ride (like a nervous flyer enjoys turbulence perhaps). I wonder what's going to happen to me.

do or die

I am not sure how it came about, but I now know exactly what I have to do. I have a feeling that I won't be able to do it perfectly, but it's the ideal that I will be striving toward. Maybe everything I've been reading lately and everything that I've learned about addiction over the years coalesced into one "unified theory" of my existence.
Sugar and grains. Bad for me. I crave them to the point of insanity. I don't care if I can't breath because I've had wheat too much, I will have more and take an anti-histamine. Weight piling on like there's no tomorrow. All of my old rules being broken without too much regret: fast food drive thrus, donuts, frosted cakes, pizza (not gluten free), giving my daughter the same crap I've been eating.
I hesitated to write it down, my new way of being, because I suspect that by this point I have lost credibility. But, a couple of days in a row of no sugar and no grains and I felt more full of life and less hungry. Of course, I was up almost every hour with my daughter until my husband got up at 6am and woke up the baby. 1 1/2 gluten free bagels later...
I made it until the early afternoon before I and my resolve shredded. But I am not giving up. This is actually a matter of life and death. First emotional and spiritual, and then physical more quickly that one might imagine.

and the pictures continue...

Focus on life. Not on yet another photo of bloat. Where the kelp did I go? Underneath. I slapped on some padding and armoured up for war; the war being the daily grind of a fat housewife. It's harder when you're large. To clarify, large and out of shape. Just getting up is hard. Forget stairs... while carrying a 11 1/2 month old... and having an almost 4 year old and a needing beagle meandering about your shins.
It's physically strenuous and then I am trying to get up the gumption to go to the gym. Or out for a walk. And I fail.
It's not about the food. The food is a symptom of the fact that I have never in my entire life accepted loss. I made it so that it wasn't lost, because I would get it back either in this life or the afterlife or the next life. All that mental juggling to avoid the great big pit of sadness. Bereft is not an emotion I allowed myself to feel. But now I must. Because these things, these people, that time of my life, those dogs, are all gone. And they are not coming back.

Pass the Key Lime Pie!!!

jumping off

This is scary but I am focusing on living and not on what I eat or don't eat. Which is scary because how am I going to know if I'm OK or not? Am I going to blow up even more than I already have? Or is this the solution? I got tagged in a photo on face book and was horrified. Actually that's not the right word; I was so bloated that I was almost impressed by my disguise! Wow. That's what I thought, with a certain amount of awe.
Yesterday I met with a financial guy to begin the process of dealing with my money situation. Today I met with my counsellor for the second time since Margie's passing and we agreed that I can keep on keeping on without therapy for the time being. (I know.... and no, she hasn't read this blog.) After I picked my daughter up from school, we went to the park and sat in the sun with the baby and she played and ran until she was plum tuckered out. I just thought about breathing and being outside and noticing things and appreciating things.
There's the tremor of panic that hums through me occasionally: the fear that if I am not trying to control my food intake in some way, then I am doomed. But there is a photographic evidence trail that flies in the face of that premise. The facts appear to be that the whole time I've been trying to control my food, I have been gaining hugely enormous blobs of fat. It's a wonder my skin still fits.
So... whatever. I can't do this any more. I have to switch my focus and address what's going on in my life.

sitting on a rock in a leisure suit...

I am so screwed. I am so sad. I keep deciding to follow different things and then I can't / won't stick to them, which leads me to find another one. I keep distracting myself with different "solutions" while I overlook the uncomfortable truth of my situation. I am not happy with my compulsion. I wish I didn't feel compelled to use food to "help" my grief and despair. I just realized that I was unable to follow yet another food plan that was going to fix everything.
Here's the list so far:
1. no wheat, dairy or sugar
2. no wheat or sugar
3. no wheat or refined sugar
4. no wheat
5. no wheat for the most part
6. support group with accompanying food plan
7. no carbs after breakfast.

I can't do it. Any of it. And I'm not going to. I am going to actively not do anything.
Not with the food.
Until of course I find #8.

What I would like to try is to do the things on my list. Like going for long walks in nature and learning to fight... blah, blah, blah.

new rules

I am so sad. I feel bereft. Margie's voice is getting fainter in my mind. I feel as if she is fading into the distance. And I can't get her back. Time is moving forward and she is not. Her memorial is tomorrow. I have been trying to comfort myself with food and it has not been working. There is temporary distraction followed by the discomfort of a distended stomach and aching knees. I remember a show about a bedridden morbidly obese man: he was talking about when he became unable to walk. He was making dinner one night and he turned around to do something and his knee gave out. It broke under his weight. Then he couldn't move around at all and more weight piled on. I fear this when I walk up or down the stairs and feel my knees groaning under the strain. I feel my stomach hanging down over my hips and thighs. That had never happened before! I realize that I do not know how to live without using food to sedate myself and that I could end up dead. I relate to the morbidly obese people on the reality shows. I can see so clearly that happening in my life. Despair sets in and the insanity that food will make it better becomes entrenched. And then you are screwed. It's alcoholism with food. It's an addiction that kills. And I'm on that path.
So I've made a decision. I am going to a support group for over eaters and I am following a food plan. I started the food plan today. It's about just eating in a way that is healthy without trying to decide for awhile. At some point I may be able to eat "free style" but not now. Not while I am in this much pain and confusion. I suppose that I could continue to try to listen for the healthy cues underneath the screaming demand for relief in the form of pie, but how much weight do I want to gain during the process?
I am not going to think too much about where this will lead or what's next or whether I'll be on a food plan for the rest of my life. I am just going to follow the plan one meal at a time.
Will I ever have sugar again? Not a pertinent issue for today.
What about wheat? Doesn't really matter right now.
And, I am not going to weigh myself at the moment, because I do not need numbers banging around the inside of my head for the rest of the month.

gone

She's gone now. Margie now knows what happens after you die. And I know that I can survive around 6 hours and 42 minutes without her on the planet.
Though I did eat Chinese food: deep fried flour with red dye sugar syrup and a fortune cookie or two. Guess what my fortune is: You will receive good news today.
OK.
A sugar binge is on the way, lurching through the darkness with a promise of oblivion followed by enough self loathing to effectively distract me from the hurt in my heart.
I am bewildered. I am angry. I am afraid of how powerful this feels. Last night I had dreams that huge crocodiles with red eyes were bursting through the floor boards of my house on the water. I had a pitch fork and was fighting them off one at a time.

changes

Here is the thing about not compulsively overeating: certain things have to change. My friend is dying more quickly than anyone had expected. She's at home now for hospice care and positioned facing the lake outside her living room window like she wanted. She's in and out of consciousness. I called her husband and asked him to tell her that she doesn't need to spend one moment worrying about me, that I'll be just fine, and that I love her. He said that he would whisper that in her ear as soon as he got off the phone. He said that he was so sorry I didn't get a chance to see her. I said it was OK. Then I got off the phone and cried on and off for the rest of the night.
Another thing that happened: I realized that I'm absolutely done with being spoken to angrily. Now I don't mean that people can occasionally take issue with me or that I won't tolerate any arguments or disagreements from anyone, but I'm finished with the irritated stream of crap from a certain family member. So I told him. I told him I was done. And I told him he could make up his mind and let me know if he needed to move out or if he was willing to stay with these new limits. I actually said that as far as I was concerned, our relationship was over, but I was open to starting again on a new footing and seeing if there was actually anything there. We both knew that I meant every word.

I am also done with a couple of my "friends". Because if I can lose Margie, then I can lose the crap that I've been accepting from certain people.

prayed

This afternoon I was trying to nap when I got a call from my sick friend's husband. He needed to cancel an appointment with my spouse because they were still in the hospital. As we said goodbye, he said, "Keep praying." And I think because my rational mind was still napping, I got this idea to pray for a miracle. So I prayed, "God, please heal M. If anyone deserves it, she does. Please heal her. Please." And I felt a twinge of faith. What if it could actually be? People heal. Spontaneous remission.
All I'm saying is, it's not over until it's over.

And at the same time, I have been stuffing my face with dairy and gluten free cupcakes which don't have wheat but have evaporated cane juice. Yes. It's pretty much sugar. Not quite the heroin that is white sugar, but close enough for government work.
So again, I begin. I need to be more careful about what I put in my mouth because it is a slippery slope. I find that I am right on the line between obsession and clarity.

death

The woman who showed me and taught me how to pretty much live a strong and good life is dying. Just before Thanksgiving, she had a cough and got it checked out. I remember so clearly that she told me, "Let's talk again in a couple of days. I am sure I'm going to feel better by tomorrow." It turned out to be lung cancer. So she changed her diet and was about to start chemo when the next scan revealed that the cancer had spread throughout her lungs. She had one or two chemo sessions and got pneumonia. That was last week. She's in the hospital now and tomorrow she'll go home. No more treatment. The cancer is too far gone. She has very little time left.
She did a massive amount of my laundry when I was overwhelmed with my first baby. We lived on the top floor of their home then. I was embarrassed by my inability to deal with laundry and taking out the garbage so I kept saying, "Oh, no. I'll get that. Don't worry about it." And she'd say, "I'm heading downstairs anyway. Why don't I just take it." And she'd take our garbage bag down the stairs to the bin. I wanted to be able to show her I'm OK now. For longer. Because of her, and her advice to listen to the doctors who told me I needed medication for my depression, I was able to start keeping up with chores. I have been at the point where I am about ready to actively pursue other interests, instead of just swatting at the balls hurtling in my direction.
When I had pneumonia, she came up to our place, told my spouse to get the pills I was supposed to take, gave them to me, and then dipped a corn chip in guacamole and fed it to me. She later said she was sorry but that she gets bossy when she's scared. I was so sick that I didn't know how sick I was. She told me that too.
What I'm going to tell her is that I love her and I am so grateful for everything she taught me. I am going to reassure her that I will be just fine, and I'll continue to put to use everything I've learned. I'll do everything I know how to do to let her know that I am OK and she doesn't have to spend one second worrying about me, my husband, or my kids.
Then I'll stand up and step forward. Because the world will have lost a brilliant soul, and there will be a lot of work to do.

The hardest part of this thing is that the pay off is so far away. And the relief offered by slamming junk down my gullet is immediate. So I sit as darkness looms and wait for the next day when I can eat again (because I don't want to eat at night after dinner) and I can't wait because I feel shaky and alone. Like I'm hanging on a rope ladder from a helicopter.

Time to set a goal.
Setting goals and working toward them is supposed to be good for self esteem.
Here's a goal:
Walk for 20 minutes tomorrow.
Keep going with the wheat free, sugar free food plan. And let go of dairy again.
Yeah! You go girl!!!

I have been wanting someone to intercede on my behalf for my whole life. Against those who I knew weren't treating me right. I couldn't stand up for myself, I realized after years of trying and failing to make a difference in my situation. The power must lie outside of myself, I concluded. And I set about trying to find the one who would protect me. One situation after another came and went, and still no savior. Like a greased pig, the idea kept eluding the grasp of logic as it transitioned from person to person as they morphed from protector to jerk. "Someone protect me from my erstwhile protector!" I wailed as I set about finding another one.

OK.
I get it.
No one is going to intercede. No one is going to make anyone see things the way I do. There is no outside force. There is only me.
To keep speaking up and see what happens. And if nothing changes...

long haul

Baby has pneumonia and an ear infection. Daughter is on the mend. Spouse is slowly recovering. Baby was diagnosed yesterday and has another appointment this Friday. We were sent home with the inhaler and antibiotics. I made a chart to keep track. I am amazed at my ability to keep on my feet through all of this, while sick. I chalk it up to the super-human qualities bestowed on those who become mothers. I can also tell if someone has a fever by feeling their forehead -- which is new. Now I'm just sad and resentful. I don't know if another partner would be more helpful or if this is a universal phenomenon in couples with kids. But it feels like it's been almost all me all week all day and all night because he couldn't move. And he did do things like daughter's eye drops and ... watching the kids while I got some sleep the other morning.
I just don't want to clean the kitchen again and again and again while I'm feeling so lousy. The amazing thing is that I haven't had wheat or sugar since day one of this blog. I have had a little dairy since my dairy back slide on Friday but will let that go again.
OK Here goes: I got weighed at the doctor on Friday and I'm 234 pounds. Here's where I got to by eating the things that hurt me to excess for years. I guess I'm lucky that I'm stopping now, because there's no limit to weight gain as we all know from watching TLC and spying on morbidly obese.
And now that I have this blog and I've made the commitment to report honestly as I go through this process, I am able to see the insanity of "Key Lime Pie! It's the perfect solution!"

Only it's not 'whatever' because this is my life and I'm beginning to remember what it was like to take care of myself. I know it's soooo Stuart Smally, but it's true. I used to feel really uncomfortable being high maintenance in restaurants or over at others' houses for meals. When you factor in my growing discomfort with the life that was happening around me without knowing what to do about it (relationship issues), that's a lot of discomfort to walk around with. Here's the crazy segue. So I thought that I needed to start eating "normally" again. I thought that eating everything that over people ate was the route to being healthy. I was so wrong. As I began adding the foods back into my diet that I can't tolerate, I began having all of the side effects: both physical and emotional. I got into the obsession that food would fix it. As my weight skyrocketed and I continued to stop for donuts on the way... I'll be honest: the donuts were not on the way; they were the destination.
And order in pizza. And make late night cake runs. And demand a Costco cake for Mother's Day when we had one guest for lunch. The cake that I got myself and ate mostly myself. Yes. I needed to eat sugar, dairy and wheat. My problem was that I had been depriving myself and I needed to stop.
So now I am remembering that I feel better not only physically but emotionally when I am eating the way I need to eat. Like I'm worth the trouble. And maybe that's one insidious root of this thing: I'm just not worth it. Sorry everyone. I should just shut up and accommodate. I'm all cringy when I decline dessert, like I'm "that chick." Oh. I can't have the quiche? How unutterably rude of me!
It feels like slipping into those soft button up jeans to say "I'm actually allergic..." Jeans that I have not been able to wear for almost a decade.

I am not sure that it's totally obvious but I am in some sort of fugue state as I have not really slept since Thursday night, what with listening for baby's breathing and comforting 3 year old all night and the fact that I can't lie down without coughing up my lungs so the sleep I do get is gotten sitting up. I didn't think it was possible when I first read of such a thing in "Gone With the Wind" (the ladies sleeping sitting up because of their hair), but I realize that it is. I think I was dreaming I was a news anchor at one point.

So, to wrap it up: dairy - yes I had it. Thrice.
But no wheat or sugar and I am not done. Not by a long shot. Buddy.

So I go to the dr. on Friday to make sure this hasn't turned into anything worse and find out I have the flu. Swine flu? They didn't know and I had been sick too long to be given tamiflu (sp?) So then I think 'my baby!' and the dr. says to bring him in if I'm worried. I bring him in for a 2:30 appt. and they want him to go to Children's Hospital by nurse transport. His oxygen is 85% and he's dehydrated and lethargic. They give him iv fluids and tylenol and steroids and albuterol and the paramedics arrive and then the nurses arrive with their rig. I'm just answering the questions and staying out of the way but close enough to baby. He's stabilized and taken to the stretcher: little baby, big stretcher. He's wheeled out through the medical building lobby like a movie star and we go together to the hospital where we stay for 5 hours to make sure he stays ok after meds wear off, which he does. They clear us to leave. By now spouse and daughter have arrived and we drive home together. My car is still in the Medical center parking lot.
Spouse informs me that he ordered my dinner for me: low carb eggplant and chicken dish. I thank him because aside from a Myoplex shake on the way to my dr's appt. and the beef broth, apple juice and apple slices the nurses at the hospital provided, I haven't eaten.
And I say thank you, knowing the meal has dairy in it. Lots of melted cheese. And you know what?
Yes, you do.

The thing is that now I think, whatever.

All day feeling sick was the excuse to just have some dairy, or sugar, or wheat... it's not a problem. "You're sick" the voice croons, "It's fine. Go ahead. Ok then; eat it really fast. Then it'll be like it didn't really happen." But I thought, 'do I want to write a blog about a woman who resolves to stop eating the crap that is destroying her or do I want to write about constant giving in to craziness?'
The latter would get boring, and I would never find out what's underneath all this fat. Neither would you.
So tonight daughter is on the mend and baby boy is keening in his playpen because he feels so awful and if I were a baby I would be doing the same thing.
... back now from holding him and comforting him and now he's asleep in his pack and play by the couch which is where I am going to be spending the night.
I love my children. It's a pity I get so upset with my choice of spouse when he is ill mannered and out of sorts. He's upstairs sleeping in our room now, and I'll leave him to it.
But I don't feel alone now, now that I am writing my thoughts down and sending them out into the vast series of tubes that compose our internets ;).

new day

I keep hearing Morgan Freeman's voice in my head, chuckling as he narrates: "It was going to get a whole lot worse before it got any better..."
I've been thrown up on twice by the baby who is now going to get pedialyte after we wait a bit. my husband is currently asleep with his mouth open on the recliner and our 3 year old is taking pictures of the commercials on Nick Jr. with her Diego digital camera.
I was up all night coughing with brief welcome respites of sleep, and spouse went downhill at 3 am, shivering and moaning. He apologized for the times he's been mean to me when I was sick. I said, "uh huh." Then, as the baby is in his portable crib in our room, I had to say "Please moan more softly. I don't want the baby to wake up."

first night

fear. i have a 3 year old and a 10 month old and both of them are sick and coughing, and i am sick and my husband is sick. i keep forgetting that it's not the 18th century and that we have medical care to deal with coughs and that ilk. fear that my husband is a first rate cretin after we have a nasty whispered fight -- i've lost my voice -- when i told him he was so damaged on the inside that he makes me want to throw up. and he accused me of amping up my illness for dramatic effect and made a reference to me sitting on the couch surfing the net and eating while he hadn't had anything but a sandwich because he wasn't hungry. which as we all know, was a dig on two levels 1) i'm fat and lazy 2) the fact that i was eating means i'm not really sick. that's about when i told him he was damaged. i am coughing so hard that i pee. not good. certainly not something i would choose to amp up for dramatic effect.
so. fear and anger.
welcome to night time without snacks.

the bust stops here

I've outgrown all my clothes, even my 9 months pregnant clothes. I weigh more than I weighed the day I gave birth to my 2nd child. I can't blame that on pregnancy. I can't blame the fact that my 2X stretchy shirts are stretched to their limit on the dryer. What I do know is this: my friends and family love me right now at my heaviest. I have proven to my inner fifteen year old that I am loved for who I am on the inside. So. Now it's about me. I feel heavy and sore. My feet hurt. My breasts are huge and not in a sexy way. My whole body is lumbering and hard to drag around with me. I can't wear my wedding ring anymore. I have become what I feared becoming. And the main problem isn't that I'm not lovable because I'm fat; that's simply not true. The main problem is that I can no longer do what I want to do. I actually fall into the category where I can't take for granted that the roller coaster bar will fit over me. I get out of breath walking up the stairs because I'm carrying an extra 90 pounds -- maybe 100.

So... I am stopping eating the things that I know hurt my body as of right now: sugar, dairy and wheat. I already know that when I eat these things, I have allergic and/or intolerant reactions. Dairy gives me cramps and brown spots on my skin. Wheat gives me flaky scalp and then I can't breath well if I have it often. Also, my face and hands swell up. And as for sugar, I don't care about any of the above when I'm eating it -- and who knows why. Crap. I knew all this and then started eating these things anyway, slowly and over time, because I did not want to be deprived. Now I'm deprived of a well functioning body. And probably a long life.

Welcome to my addictive brain. Let's see what happens when I stop feeding the addiction.

So far today, no sugar, no dairy, no wheat.