Anxiety is a Real Bitch

You are being forewarned.  If the thought of blood grosses you out, the thought of a menstrual cycle grosses you out, or you are too immature to understand/respect feminine issues, this post is not for you.  Yesterday I got put through the wringer.  In retrospect, it's easy to see that I maybe did overreact a little bit.  But hindsight is always 20/20, and you know what, all my worry is totally justified, but the overwhelming thoughts of impending doom are where things get a little foggy.  As I have told you before, this whole weight loss kick got started because I had been on my period for a staggering THREE MONTHS straight.  Yes, you read that right.  The moodiness I experienced was in constant transformation.  Moody about pain, moody about how f**king tedious it is to make sure you have tampons at all times, moody about how icky I felt, and most importantly, moody about, ahem, my sexual activity (or lack there of).  I know, I know, too much information, but you know what, you try bleeding for 3 months straight and see where your social filters end up.

Anyways, I finally decided to go to the doctor because obviously losing that much blood isn't healthy, and after what seemed like an insane amount of testing, doctor's appointments, and referrals, they were all finally reaching the conclusion that I just needed to lose weight.  Well, shit!  That was far better than what I expected, and totally achievable.  All that worry for nothing.  So one thing led to another and here I am!  6.2 pounds down in 7 days, not too shabby if I do say so myself.

My OB/GYN and I decided to put Mirena in, which is an IUD, or for you men out there who have no idea what either of those things are, birth control, so it would help to control the abnormal bleeding.  It would remain in place for 5 years, which pretty much coincides with my life plan for having children (lofty goals, I'm aware).  The appointment was scheduled for Monday, as was briefly touched on in a previous post where I "cheated" and saw my weight loss.  The issue arose when the doctor decided not to put Mirena in, but rather, do an Endometrial Biopsy, which checks for Uterine Cancer.  Umm, okay?  It wasn't that she had decided to do the biopsy, I'm all for ruling everything out, but why the HELL would she wait until 2 months after my first visit?  At this point I've been bleeding pretty consistently for 5 months, ALL of 2014.  I was infuriated, to say the very least.  She pointed to the risk factor (being heavy) with which she was making that choice, but it didn't make sense to me.  It's not like I ballooned up suddenly.  My weight was present two months ago, so why now, why all of a sudden is she worried?  I had to bleed for two more entire months, while she fiddled her thumbs.  Awesome.  Truly.

She had informed me that the results would typically take about two weeks to receive, and based on what they saw, we could either go forward with Mirena, or not.  Easy enough?  Wrong.  Here is where my Worry filled Wednesday begins.  Two days after I do the biopsy (yesterday), the doctor's receptionist calls, and in the most dismally worried tone I have ever heard, requests for an immediate follow up.  Well that got my heart pumping a little bit.  So I in turn asked her if the biopsy results were already back, which she confirmed in another, utterly pained voice.  Her tone of voice sent me right over the deep end.  I asked if the results were bad, but she refused/declined to provide me any information, or clue.


                


That was me.  Out in the parking lot at my job.  So I panic, called my Mom, called my sister, called my boyfriend, nobody answered.  Of course.  So my anxiety and stress filled mind went to work.  Let me just give you a play by play of my thought process, so you can see why sometimes I even question my own sanity.

"I have cancer.  Does that mean I have to do chemo?  What if they have to remove my uterus?  Can you have a baby with out a uterus?  That's probably the dumbest thing I've ever thought.  I'd better research this.  Hysterectomy?  No chance of having kids.  Should I get my eggs cryo-freezed?  What if it's too far along to help?  This is bullshit!  My Dad passed away a year ago, I shouldn't have to deal with this right now!!  If I cant have my own child, I totally support surrogacy.  But what if the surrogate Mom of my child falls in love with it and kidnaps it like one of those Lifetime movies?  What about adoption?  I support it, but I've always wanted to see what MY genes can create.  A little ball of awesome, that's what.  SHIT!  Seriously, what if I cant have kids now?  What if I die?  I want to know what it's like to be pregnant!!!  My sister is going to have to have my children.  This is NOT fair."

Put that on repeat, and that was my afternoon yesterday.  It was scary, and angering, that this test was postponed for so long.  The follow up appointment was scheduled for this morning.  So I sat and stewed about it for the rest of day, and had pretty much written myself, and my future off.  After all this work to get myself headed in a healthy direction, something like this happens.  Everyone I had told was telling me not to borrow trouble, to think positive, but to me it was insensitive to say all that generic stuff.  Just be worried with me!  How can you not be?!

I left work, and had a voicemail from the doctor's office.  It was a medical assistant informing me that they would be putting Mirena in after the follow up to the results.  Relief.

                 


The results?  Well, they are bad and good.  It isn't cancer (phew), but they did find some abnormal gland formations and evidence of endometrial polyps.  I'm going to try to treat it with medicine, aka birth control, and then if that doesn't work, off to surgery I go.  Nothing too serious, just Dilation and Curettage.

The final verdict eased my mind, but it really highlights how fragile life is.  This is why I want to get healthy, so when things like this come up, I know it isn't something that I have done to myself.  All the hard work is paying off too, because when I went to the appointment today, they weighed me, and I've lost ANOTHER pound!!!!  The total is 7.2 lbs now, and counting.  Sorry to derail you all from my weight loss, but as with most people, that is just one small aspect of my life.  All this other stuff doesn't go away, just because I've chosen to lose weight.  I just have to take it one day at a time and try to keep a smile on my face.  So far, so good.

It's the Little Victories

So, I was sneaky yesterday.  One of the rules of the weight loss program, forbids us from weighing ourselves through out the week between the Tuesday evening meetings.  Today is only going to be my second meeting, so I have been terrified all week long that I haven't been losing anything, and how mortified I would be.  Fortunately for me, I had a doctor's appointment yesterday afternoon, and well of course, they weigh you in each visit.  When I stepped on the scale, I knew I would either be thrilled at a smaller number, or frantic to do exercise all evening to lower the number by one digit.  Drum roll please.....

              

I LOST FIVE POUNDS!!!!  

Let me say that again:

I LOST FIVE  pounds!

(Everybody happy dance now)

All the "suffering" I went through without food for the past 6 days ended up meaning that I would no longer be in the 290's, I'm in the 280's club.  I put bunny ears on suffering, because in reality, it wasn't difficult at all.  I really, really like the chocolate shakes, they taste like unbaked brownie mix (and who doesn't love licking the brownie mix bowl).  I think the hardest part is losing the crunch/chewing aspect of eating.  I've found a new love of exercise too!  Even if it's only 30 minutes of brisk walking, plus sit ups (I don't want to kill myself by attempting anything more strenuous just yet), it obviously helps!  Plus, IT'S FUN!  It's fun in that I know I am burning calories with every step, that each drop of sweat is proof that the five pounds lost were earned.

                   

I read a quote once that said, "Sweat is only your fat crying."  It resonated with me.  I have found it to be an excellent motivator when I am wishing I could quit exercising.  When you think of exercise as a battle against your fat, it makes you think less about the work, and more about the victory.  I have found that as long as I keep that thought in my mind when I'm working out, as tough as it is, I push through it, and it becomes a game.  Whatever I accomplished yesterday, I want to accomplish 2 more today.

It's the ever growing accomplishments that will help continue my weight loss, but for now, let me hear the hallelujah chorus sing one more time.  FIVE POUNDS GONE.  My first goal is 5% complete.  It sounds small, but twenty more 5%'s and I'll be at 100%, and THAT sounds easy.  See you later 5 pounds, I kicked your butt!

              

              

As a Fat Girl...

Well, my first weekend on the diet went well.  I only cheated once--and I wouldn't necessarily consider it cheating.  I feel like I should be entitled to ONE healthy meal per week, because, I get enough exercise to not only counteract the extra calories, but also, a 25 year old girl's gotta live a little.  So instead of eating pizza and burritos and whatever else sounds absolutely mouth watering, I ate a grilled chicken spinach pesto panini.  Not bad, right?  Or am I delusional.  I did all the research for how many calories I was ingesting, and I made up for them by working out.  Still though, don't tell my doctor.

Anyways, I saw the above meme and realized I hadn't even delved into that arena yet.  As a fat girl, I am painfully familiar with standing in a group of girls picking themselves, and their bodies, apart.  Because I am aware of my size, I literally never complain about it.  It’s as simple as me being worried that it will call more attention to my size than there already is.  Ask my boyfriend, ask my mom, ask anyone that knows me.  Under zero circumstances do I ever even hint that I am insecure about my size, despite it being the biggest (no pun intended) insecurity I have.  So when I stand there, hearing girls who are easily more than 100 pounds lighter than me saying they are “fat”, murderous thoughts begin to stir within me.  How can anyone thin, who is vain enough to think they are “fat”, have the audacity to talk about being “fat” in front of me, a fat girl.  It’s ridiculous.

Beyond that, if they truly feel they are fat, what does that make me?!  A planet?  Maybe they don’t realize it, but they are blatantly insulting me, directly to my face, in this weird passive-aggressive way.  Most of the time I just let them talk, but sometimes I have the balls to voice my thoughts, to point out how absolutely, disgustingly, insensitive they are being.

Then again, maybe I’m just sensitive.  After all, it isn’t their fault I’m fat.  They are allowed to feel insecure about their weight, even despite my presence.  I don’t want people to tip toe around me for fear of rousing some fat girl attitude.  I don’t know.  It still bugs me more than words could possibly describe.  Maybe it is because I, personally, try to be sensitive of those around me.  I’m not going to complain about my essentially flawless skin having one tiny blemish (that may or may not be visible to others), when someone with severe acne is standing right next to me.  I’m not going to complain about my teeth being one shade too yellow, when there is someone with an obviously horrendous grin near me. 

I don’t know if my awareness of others’ feelings is a direct result of my current size, but it makes sense.  When you have a visible fault, you can’t run from it.  The whole world knows I’m fat, just like the whole world knows that kid has a face full of acne, or the other with a messed up smile.  I know what it feels like to have someone, intentionally and unintentionally, make you feel bad about yourself.  It doesn’t feel good, and I wouldn’t want to inflict that on anyone, so I make a point of thinking my thoughts through, before running my mouth.

I’ll never understand how a seemingly physically perfect person could feel it necessary to comment on any insecurity aloud.  Maybe that is their physical imperfection.  They are so worried what others are thinking, they have to pick themselves apart for approval.  You can bet your bottom dollar I wouldn’t start telling people how fat I feel, because what are they supposed to say, no?  That’s ridiculous, and I’d be mad at them for lying.  I know I’m fat, but I’m working on it.  And you know what, I’m happy that way.  My imperfections are relatively easy to resolve.  People who find it necessary to have the approval of others, when they are already at the ideal body weight, have a much, much harder transformation ahead of them.  Vanity isn’t flattering, and it’s much more difficult to shed than some extra weight.

Wallowing Without Food

Well, the diet isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.  At the same time, I'm miserably lonely.  When everyone is talking about barbecues, or after work drinks, I wish I could cry.  Normally I leap at the chances to enjoy these events, but since I cant partake in the festivities, it's totally depressing.  I know deep down, in order to get where I want to be, I have to make these sacrifices.  Or else, I may continue with my life as I have been, perfectly represented by the meme below:

I just have to keep reminding myself that the sacrifice isn't more than a drop in the barrel in the scheme of my life.  Would I rather have these 5 beers, or be able to teach my future children how to ride a bike?  Are these cheese fries necessary, or would I rather look back on my life at 80 years old and smile about how much I've seen?  I know these type of rationalizations sound totally over the top, but at some point, I have  to think like that, and why not now?  I could say yes to these 5 beers, or cheese fries, but if I do every time, I'll never make any progress.  There is always another special occasion.  Once I hit my goal, I have more wiggle room, literally and figuratively, to pick and choose my cheat moments.  But I have to hit that goal first.  By then, I will have learned a large amount about nutrition, and myself, and I will have earned it.

I managed to go out to dinner with my Mom and Sister last night.  I ate my chocolate shake (delicious, if I do say so myself), while they ate their meals.  As big of a bummer as it is, it wasn't too difficult honestly.  I was proud of myself.  I'm still proud of myself.  The cherry on top was that at the end of the evening, I had enough energy, AND motivation, to do some exercise with my boyfriend.  Amazing!  Normally, I would be totally pooped and just want to smoke some weed (gasp!), eat a snack, and go to bed.  

Something like that, yup!  But, I just exercised, showered, and went to bed instead.  And the best part about it was....I had such a great morning!!  I was so motivated because I proved that I can change my lifestyle.  Now, I will try to build off that motivation, and in one months time, I already know my life will have done a 180.  It will be amazing, and I will be more happy than I've been in years.  This weekend will be a giant test, because it's my first weekend on the diet, but here goes nothing!!

Cardboard is More Appealing

So, I started my liquid diet yesterday.  Dear God what have I gotten myself into?  The shakes are bad--like really bad.  The thought of consuming only these little packets of powder, sent me into a deep depression yesterday.  I tried cooking with one of them, but it looked beyond disgusting.  I wouldn't have fed it to a dog--disgusting.  There are the following flavors:

Strawberry

Chocolate

Vanilla

Potato

Tomato

Chicken

Supposedly, the potato is versatile.  Though in my vast experience (sarcasm) it is the most disgusting.  I think I'll stick to the Chocolate and Vanilla, both of which have been pretty good actually.  I'll be testing the Tomato for dinner tonight, I hear it is pretty good too.  We shall see.  

After my culinary failure, I about lost my mind last night.  I was so beyond hungry, I got the worst headache I've had in years.  I was exhausted, and needed food, but the thought of attempting another shake or soup was repulsive to me.  So I ate spinach and shredded carrots.  Not technically on my list of foods I can eat, but I figured it was better than McDonald's.  I wanted to be somewhat awake and functioning for my first weight loss meeting.  

The meeting went well.  I am by far the youngest person, and I was supposedly put in the "young" group.  It made me wonder who the hell was in the other programs?  70 year olds?  Perplexing to say the least.  I made a friend, even if she is twice my age and all of her kids are older than me.  She is three weeks into the program, 10 lbs down, and is very welcoming and understanding. 

Once I left the meeting?  I was beyond hungry.  I ate an entire carrot when I got home, but I knew if I didn't get some sustenance before bed, my 10+ hour Wednesday and Thursday work shift would be a disaster.  So, I caved into temptation.  I'm not proud of myself, but technically my diet was supposed to start Wednesday anyways.  You better believe I ate an entire box of macaroni.  

This blog wont be all butterflies and perfection.  I'm going to have hard days, where I will be so down that I can only punch out three words.  "Fuck this Shit" comes to mind.  "I need food" is another.  Today's a new day, and meeting everyone last night renewed my hope.  So far, I've had a chocolate shake, and I think I'll have another one, because you don't want to see me when I'm hungry. 

Current Weight Loss: 0 Lbs. 

T-Minus 0 Hours

Well my food finale weekend was pretty amazing, I must say.  Buttermilk pancakes, corned beef hash, sausage, Jack in the Box, tortellini, pizza, a burrito, french toast, and pop corn.  Success.  Whilst stuffing all the food in, I began to think about how gross it all is, and recalling the blood work results I had just received.  High Cholesterol, high blood pressure, less than stellar kidney function for my age, pre-diabetes, poly-cystic ovarian syndrome, heart burn, the list goes on.

It clicks with me, I'm a ticking time bomb.  Besides the fact that I'm less than thrilled with my appearance, my health is in serious jeopardy.  It may not be an immediate threat, but the road I'm traveling on has an inevitable dead end--emphasis on the dead.

So, that's why I'm doing the metabolic nutrition program recommended by my doctor.  Essentially, it helps you lose weight rapidly, while figuring out why you got where you got in the first place.  It is an all liquid diet, that mimics starvation, but the shakes and soups help relieve any hunger, while providing your body with the protein your brain needs to survive (and not feast on your muscles).  It definitely isn't something you can continue long term, but part of the program is determining a good plan of attack for a long term diet.  You do weekly group meetings, bi-weekly blood work, and monthly doctor's appointments.

I had my first meeting with the doctor yesterday, and got my week's supply of "food".  I've tried the chocolate shake, and it's less than appealing.  I also chose the potato soup.  Not thrilling either.  I had a major freak out last night because I was worried that I wouldn't be able to commit to this, even though for weeks I've been so excited.  I had this impression it would taste a little better.  I kept reminding myself that it's worth it.  You cant go from eating delicious amazing pizza, to a powdered, watery "potato" and think it is amazing.  Time and persistence will be my best friends.  I will get used to this food.  It isn't much of a choice, considering it will be my only source of food.

And so my journey begins.  I weighed 292.4 yesterday.  The goal we chose to set (for now) is 192, for a total weight-loss of 100 pounds.  I will be shedding a small human people.  The first notch of the zipper is being unzipped, and thin, healthy me, is already ready to burst through.  The only person I feel for is my boyfriend.  He, if anything, wants to gain weight.  No more going out to eat, though, and he is so understanding and supportive.  :)  I totally love the guy.

I've tried to figure out where I'm planning on taking this blog.  Is it a digital diary?  Do I want people to follow it?  What will the content be?  To answer it plainly, of course I want people to follow it, and it will be a digital diary.  The content will be a clusterfuck of all my emotions, which I'm sure will be numerous, along my journey.  There will be rants, there will be raves.  I'll include my fancy recipes, that tip a hat to my culinary creativity.  And I'll keep you posted on my progress.  When I start delving into real food, I'm sure my new healthy recipes will be recounted.  I'm most looking forward to showing you all the before and the after.  That, after all, is the purpose, and you can keep me accountable for my actions.

100 pounds to go!

The Countdown Begins: I'm Breaking Up with Food

Well, I start my transformation on Monday.  You know what that means?  This weekend I'll be saying goodbye to comfort food, while stuffing as much food in my mouth as possible.  It's a sad moment for me.  Why cant I just be one of those people who can eat what ever they want and never see it on the scale?  No more late night, drunken Ultimate Cheeseburgers from Jack in the Box.  Or cookies and milk before bed.  Or ice cream on an emotional day.  Or pizza, which I think will be the hardest goodbye.  The only thing left to do is break up with my comfort food:

My heart is heavy today, knowing our time together has come to an end.  The only thing that is worse about saying goodbye to you, is that I am saying good bye to you all at once.  You were there for me in the best and worst of times Macaroni.  I never judged you for being fake, with your cheese powder and boxed noodles, because you never cared if I ate all of you.  You also didn't mind sharing the spotlight, as I paired you with many of my other favorites.  How generous.

Macaroni's creaminess paired well with you, Hot Dog.  You have always known how to be a co-star though, every barbecue burgers always outshine you.  I will never forget how nice of you that was.  Speaking of burgers, Ultimate Cheeseburger, thank you for all the wonderful nightcaps we had together.  You never failed at sobering me up.  You were a cheap date, which was part of your appeal.  You and curly fries will have many more nights together, just not with me.

Fried Chicken.  Sadly you are on the break up list as well.  Your crunchy, salty exterior was always attractive to me.  You comforted me always, and went with everything.  You were offered to me everywhere I turned, and it made you hard to resist.  You were like a bad boy, knowing I shouldn't be with you, but impossible to let go.  I feel like an emotionally abused woman, who has finally come to the realization you will never change.  You will always be unhealthy, which is why I cant be with you anymore, but you will always have a place in my heart.

Pasta, you could have been memorialized with Macaroni, but I felt you deserved your own explanation for why I'm leaving you.  You were authentic, oh so suave, with your Italian background.  You made me weak at the knees in all your garlic-y flavors.  Good thing there is a healthier version of you, but he seems so stuck up I don't know if I will even bother.  I may miss you enough to give him a shot.  Until then, good bye.

And last, but certainly not least, is you Pizza.  The thought of life with out you is unbearable.  You are my favorite, and all the others were simply options to choose so I wouldn't get sick of you.  Life will be a little less delicious without you, but I know I will meet you again.  There is no way I can spend the rest of my life not seeing you again, even if I have to cheat every once in a while to be with you.

You all are amazing, but I have to move on.  You haven't done anything to show you deserve me, and if anything were a detriment to my life.  Maybe once I can figure out how to balance you with the leaner versions of yourselves, we can hang out again, but until then, this is it.  This weekend will be our last rendezvous, so please do me a favor and don't call for a while.

Heartbreak + Food = Ma'am, Put Down the F***ing Pizza

So, as some of you may know from reading my previous post, I lost my Dad on March 28, 2013.  Me gaining all this weight is not a result of that, though I'm sure it contributed some.  I was definitely on the food-caboose before he passed away, but that incident just detached me from reality.  He was my best friend in life and not having him here with me, makes the world a little gloomy, to say the very least.  I tumbled into depression.  At 25 years old, this is not how I envisioned my life.  To think that I still have what seems like an eternity to live, and wont share a millisecond with my Dad, twists my heart into knots.

Despite that, I managed to move out of my Mom's, with my boyfriend, in our first ever apartment financed by yours truly.  The liberation is amazing, and I feel so guilty my Dad wasn't here to see how fantastic it truly makes me feel.  Since I have waited so long to live out on my own, and not have anyone to answer to, I don't mind admitting that I am a serious homebody.  I've wanted an apartment for so long, now that it's here, I never want to leave.  That could be the depression though.  It could also be because I just don't feel comfortable in my own skin.  I'm not too sure, but oh well.

Anyways, since I've moved out, I've been in complete control of my food intake.  I thought that would mean that I would lose the pounds like my name was Jenny Craig, but if anything, I've gained weight since being here.  It's not like my parents told me what I could and couldn't eat, but they just never bought anything that was good.  Have you ever felt like whenever you look into your own fridge, there is nothing to eat?  But when you look into a friend's fridge, they have the most amazing buffet ever?  Well, that was me, my entire life.  I never felt like there was anything to eat, even if there was. So now that I buy my own groceries, its like a Las Vegas buffet.  You name it, I've got it...well at least until we run out and I'm too lazy to go to Safeway.  If that's the case, hellooooo Jack In the Box, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Round Table, Del Taco, Carl's Jr., Panda Express, Burger King, Taco Bell, Quiznos, etc....

How pathetic.  Either I'm eating all the unhealthy food I've hoarded from the grocery store, or I'm eating grease fake food.  No wonder I am where I am.  I guess in my emotional state, I just don't feel like dealing with food.  It's easier to take the easy way out, because I just don't have enough emotional stamina to think about breakfast/lunch/dinner.  I'm sure this blog will transform into an all encompassing venting session, that will include rants about my weightloss, boyfriend, loss of my dad, work, and life, so just bear with my verbal A.D.D.  If anything, use it as a comparison to your own life, may you never jump on the roller coaster that is my life.

The gifs below are pretty accurate at describing the past year of my life.  Enjoy:


                                                         

I haven't always been this way..

It's crazy to look back on my life and think I have always thought I was bigger than I should be.  I look back on those pictures from highschool, early college, hell, even two years ago and wish I could slap my old self for being insecure.  What I thought was bad then, is beautiful to me now.  I'm hoping to avoid continuing this routine.  The pictures of me now are bad, but I don't want to see them in 2 years and think I looked good.  That would mean I've gained MORE weight.  Who I am now has to be my absolute max.  One day I'll get back to my smaller sizes, but instead of feeling ashamed of myself, I will own it.

Why Molting?

I feel like some people may be wondering why I chose "molting" as the blog title.  The definition of "molt" is: to shed old feathers, hair, or skin, or an old shell, to make way for a new growth.  I think the whole, "look at me, I'm in a transformation like a pretty little butterfly" is a little cliche.  I mean, while it is a great analogy, I'm not into gushy stuff like that.  My preferred analogy is a snake molting.  Or unzipping my old skin and stepping out!

Someone Break the Camera---Seriously

I think one of the hardest parts about being heavy is that I cant enjoy the simple things, even if I'm with people I love.  I find that when I sit down even BY MYSELF at home, I have to hold a pillow in front of me.  I have always told myself it's a comfort thing, but in reality, I think it's a conspicuous way to shield myself or my body.  Case in point: Christmas 2013

Beyond that, I am still furious at whoever decided to snap that shot of me.  But, why am I living like that?  I don't want to see myself in pictures, like, ever.  Of course, I have mastered "my angle", but if someone else is behind the lens, it's like someone sprang a spontaneous hide and seek game, and I'm determined to find the best hiding place.  So, I'm sure there are plenty of memories that have gone undocumented, simply because of my refusal to be photographed.

After losing my Dad, I realize how special pictures are, so it seems so ridiculous to me that I am intentionally preventing mine from being taken.  I decided to put some pictures in my blog of what I look like through the eyes of others, not my misleading angled selfies.  I don't think I look pretty in any of these (seriously I am FORCING myself not to remove those), and it's depressing to put them out for all the world to see.  BUT, that is me.  Underneath the extra layers, is a beautiful, confident girl, who is just waiting to molt the old body.