Day 3

Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.

At first, I didn't know what to write for this. I could say something about being unhealthy, about not doing everything I always say I will...not always doing the best work I know I can do, not keeping up with friends as mutually as I'd like.

But it suddenly hit me what I needed to write about. It was a splash of cold water, and I don't, don't, don't want to dwell on this. But I have been, and I need to let it go.

During the last few weeks of Mom's life, I was over to the house every night. She was all set up in the hospital bed, with oxygen and everything, and was mobile and alert. She was never alone, and I was 'in charge' one night while Dad and the kids went to game. I was sniffly due to burgeoning allergies, but was not accepting the fact, so I did nothing to treat the condition.

Mom's illness had brought us closer than ever. Our relationship had never been Gilmore-Girls stellar, but it was better than a lot of my friends' with their moms. So having the opportunity to really improve our relationship since her cancer diagnosis was such a blessing. I felt wonderful about our bond.

Mom hadn't taken a true turn for the worse yet, and we were all hoping that the hospice nurse's ballpark prediction of three months would prove true. Mom (understandably) was being extra careful about her well-being, and was concerned about my sniffles. I told her not to worry--I was looking forward to an evening alone with her. I'd been reading to her every night from Holes by Louis Sachar...a book I'd only recently read myself, and was so powerfully reminded of Mom at the ending that I felt strongly she needed to experience it as well.

Still she fretted, and I felt hurt that she didn't want me around (while at the same time begrudgingly understanding why). She asked that I not be in the same room with her, after she felt my forehead and it was warm. I retired to the living room, and called Elissa to come over, getting progressively (perhaps irrationally) more upset.

I was in silent tears as I left the house a little bit later. Selfish tears, yes, but I'm a stubborn one. I went home and sulked, probably playing some Golden Girls for comfort, as was my wont MANY nights around this time. After an hour or so, Mom called. She said she was sorry we missed an evening together, and did I want to chat for awhile? Still affronted, I said I was tired. We had a short conversation, then got off the phone.

The next day, I got off work at five and headed home. I didn't go straight to my parents' (as I normally had been doing), instead taking care of a few things around the house.

Dad called, and asked me to come over. I objected, saying Mom wouldn't want me there since I was a little sick. And yes, I was still being stubborn. Dad ignored me, and said "Just come over, please."

As soon as I saw his face, I knew something bad had happened. He filled me in...and I can't remember the exact details, nor do I want to. Mom had had a really bad night, and they had to call hospice. The head nurse pulled Dad aside and gave him the news...the worst news we'd had since learning of her initial diagnosis. Mom's life expectancy had gone way down. She was hanging on, but not by much. We couldn't expect much communication from here on out.

I will never, ever forget that moment with Dad. And I can't think about it without heaving with sobs.

We had a night of grieving. Everyone was low; we needed to be together.

Much later, I went home. As I settled numbly into my overstuffed couch, ready to be transported into a pastel-decorated Miami bungalow, it hit me. The phone call last night. The last phone call she would ever make to me. The one I blew off, focusing instead on my own FUCKING SELFISH emotions. My last chance to talk to a completely lucid Peggy, and I ruined it.

Wracked with guilt, I spent every minute I could at the house for the next two and a half weeks. I journaled almost all of those minutes, but cannot read it now. There were moments of sweet lucidity; hilarious moments of a completely uncensored Mama telling her friends *exactly* what she thought of them; touching and heartbreaking moments where she told me and Dad, surrounding her in an embrace, that she'd accepted what was to happen..."It's just life, Gen," with a sad, brave smile on her face, while Dad and I sobbed.

And then it was over.

And I can't forget it. I can't forgive myself for that night. Often, when I 'talk' to Mom before I go to sleep, I ask her if she remembers that, and express my sorrow at how I acted. I know it's spilled milk, and nothing good comes from me feeling bad about this.

But I still do.




I have to forgive myself.

Day 2

Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.

I've never done this before. I've extolled my virtues on various dating sites and job interviews, but this is very different. And love...that is such a strong word. I *like* many things I can think of...my new shortish hair/bangs, my boobs on occasion, my good skin.

But what do I *love*? Is this the same as 'being egotistical about,' do you think? My knowledge of the English language? My ability to kick all asses in the game of Set?

...I don't think so. I feel good about those things, but...they're innate. I don't know if I appreciate them as much as I should. I blatantly look down on those who *don't* have a good handle on English (as many of us do). Somehow that doesn't seem like LOVE to me.

This morning, I finished the audiobook disc I was on (Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. Cutest book cover EVER), and felt the urge to dance. I reached for the cd-holder, knowing that what I wanted and needed would be right on top. There it was...my little homemade Adam Lambert disc, scratched from many, many uses. I put the disc in, set it to random, and went into another world.

Now, I'm not a music person. I resist new music. I haaaaaate when someone says "Hey, come here, I want to play this song for you." I am resentful and bitter the whole time. I feel held hostage. Like they are interrupting my life for three minutes and expect my full attention, I guess? I don't know. I know it's stupid, though. And I know people are only wanting me to experience what they feel about the song. I am getting better about this with Neil, and as we get to know one another better and better, he's getting to know what sort of songs my picky self really likes...AND how to play them for me more organically. So it's not just me standing there seething with anger.

But...when I *do* find music I like, I'm like anyone else. I can't get enough of it. And with my recent desire to get into drum-playing, and my constant urge to dance to music I'm listening to, even at work, I know I have good rhythm.

So right now...that's what I love. I feel free, and high (I think....drug-free for life and all), and alive, and I love that I can dance, and it can make me go from Grumpy to Fabulous in a minute flat. I feel confident and sexy and even talented, like I have something inside that needs to be explored.

I guess this is kind of a weird answer. I feel weird about it, anyway. But at this moment, it's what I love.



P.S. The cover of Bonk. Something else I love!

30 Days of Truth: Day 1

My dear friend Lindsay is beginning this exercise, and I want in on it. So here's what I'm going to do for the next month on the blog, answering each briefly (or not-so-briefly, if I'm in a chattery mood) and honestly:

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

So, today...Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.

This should be easy. :-/

I hate my stomach, butt, and thighs. I hate that I can't maintain enough control over my bad habits to be happy with these areas.

I hate that I am so painfully awkward around new people. Most of the time I fake my way through getting to know someone new, but just the thought of meeting a new person makes me extremely nervous. I've learned, through years of waiting tables and working the front desk at libraries, to put on a smile and act like I'm okay with it, but I'm really not. And since I'm not one of those sparkly happy people whose smile lights up the room and whom everyone loves on sight, I'm not confident that *I'll* be liked, either.

PILLS YAY PILLS

So I've been taking Paxil (er, generic paxil, which means more monies for meeee) since around about May. I'd tried it before while I lived in Chicago during the He Who Shall Not Be Named era, but it wasn't the thing my body needed right then. (What my body actually needed was for me to move far away to NYC. Done and done.)

I found myself getting plagued with little worries all the time last winter/spring....even though things were great at home, and Neil and I had settled down into our various works and schools, and had worked hard to be emotionally there for one another...I still worried constantly. And I found myself losing my motivation to do anything BUT worry. No exercise, no eating well, no real hobbies. I just didn't care about improving myself--I needed to make sure that Neil was okay, even when he was totally fine. I'm sure I was annoying him with my frequently-asked "Are you okay, sweetie"s....GAG me....and bless him for not erupting with frustration every day.

I knew something had to change. I had to begin getting a hold of my health, physically and mentally. I wondered if an anti-anxiety med was the answer. When I remembered what ill effects Paxil had had on me, I worried again, but I knew with my husband and Dawson family close by, they could tell me if I wasn't acting myself. Plus, I totally knew I was different on Paxil back in 1999/2000. I felt kooky all the time!

It was, though, a tough decision. (Whoa, "tough" is "though" with an extra "h"!) When I finally got the nerve to call my doctor to make an appointment in early May, I was nearing a breaking point....worrying myself into a frenzy nearly every day. So when the secretary said Dr. Johnson didn't have an opening until July....well, I broke down. Silly, I know. And what else should I expect when I've chosen a super popular GP as my doctor?

I think the secretary took pity on me, because she worked some magic on her end. I received the call that they'd put in a prescription for me, and I could return in July to talk about it. I was so, so relieved!


Sometimes, my ultrasensitivity to medication is a bad thing. The first time I took Trazodone (a SUPER mild sleeping med), I felt woozy and drunk, and then like I had a killer hangover the in the morning. And it was half a tab of the least amount it even comes in. (It got better.)

But in this case, I couldn't WAIT to start...I knew it would come with crazy two-week-side-effects, but it might do away with some of the crazy I'd BEEN feeling. And boy, did it deliver. I was bouncing off the walls those first ten days! I didn't care about ANYTHING! (In a good way, though.) I was so grateful to have some of the weight lifted off my shoulders. I also lost fourteen pounds (though that definitely had to do with the fact that we visited Grandma in Reno then, and being in the West/mountains always makes me lose weight. True story), and was totally jittery, and sweated weirdly...but those effects all ended soon.

Suffice it to say, I'm still taking it. And I love it. Those kooky-crazy feelings of wild abandon that were there ten years ago aren't present now, but I can still let loose. I have way more energy to exercise and get things done. The only issue I've had is that, because this med makes me not really care about things that used to CONSUME me, I'm way more lax with money and food. I'm a total spendthrift, and a TOTAL glutton. :) I think I just need to take it day by day...or even hour by hour, for now. It's way too easy to leave my old anal self behind and say "Eh, don't worry about dieting today. CAAAAAAAKE!"

I feel ugly.

...In more ways than one. I've let things (health-wise) slide for so long that I feel physically icky.

I justify "Waiting to Start" ALL. THE. TIME. All the time. "Well, I WAS going to kick-start this stricter diet tomorrow, but I *just* got that Broccoli Cheese casserole from the deli and I have no idea how many calories are in it, so I'll just wait to start til that's gone." "Well, I WAS going to start today, but I forgot that it's Sarah's birthday and we're going to Shakespeare's, and then there will be leftovers, so I'll just wait til that's gone." ARGH.

There will *always* be leftover pizza, or a special event, or some new food coming out I've wanted to try, or a new Mr. Goodcents in town (DAMN YOU GOODCENNNNNNNTS!), or a weekend trip to Kansas City...ALWAYS.

And I guess I need to keep reminding myself of that. So, yeah--there's leftover Shakes in the fridge. And the casserole, and some break-n-bake cookies. And I'm going to KC soon. And and and and AND AND AND.

Also, this is a horrible habit--I need to STOP taking weekends off. For real. Changing one's lifestyle can't just happen Monday thru Friday. I usually do allow myself ONE fun meal a week when I'm being strict, and that works out really well--if I'm absolutely dying for Taco Bell, I ask myself "Do you want this to be your fun meal, really?"--and it totally works to keep me in line. It's when I turn the "Fun meal" into a "Fun day," then a "Fun weekend," which are always soooo hard to come back from, that I get in trouble.

So. Today, instead of packing that incredible gooey butter cake for work, I measured out a cup of cottage cheese and made sure I had yogurt. I HATE this. I hate it. But I need to REALLY start one of these days....why can't it be today? Tell me, self, why can't it f*&king be TODAY?

A few more things.

Okay, now that I've gotten that first post out of the way (that was a hard one to hit "Publish Post" on, let me tell you...), it's back to the details. The minutiae, if you will.

1. I'd like to incorporate some strength training into my routine. Nothing kettle-ball intensive, just some hand/ankle weight stuff. I stocked up on my last trip to Play It Again Sports, so there are no excuses...

2. I had some major blood-workage done in late July, and I was *terrified*. I was positive it would come back with my cholesterol out of control and with the news I had diabetes and a low life expectancy and EVERYTHING bad. I did a major 5-day boot camp before the blood was taken, after two months of being totally off-plan, and went in with fingers crossed. The check-up began with disappointment, when Dr. Johnson informed me I hadn't lost any weight in the six months since I'd seen her last (and she'd given me the simple goal of losing 5-10 pounds in that time, which I figured would have been easy-peasy). I'd lost and gained a bunch of weight in that six-month period, actually, but it was depressing to know nothing had come of it.

My blood work came back within two weeks, and it was....Perfect. 100%, everything within a good range, absolutely fine. And while that news had me a little gobsmacked, a small part of me felt hopeless. I *wanted* to get scared. I *wanted* something horrible to show up on that test, to MAKE me shift into high gear and get rid of all this extra weight. What was my motivation now?

Well, that's stupid. I can find motivation anywhere. But at that moment, I wondered what it would take.

3. I've found ways to creatively incorporate exercise into my routine so that it's not just this boring thing to get through. I discovered that I can read pretty well when I walk in place in our little carpeted "exercise-room" at work (just a curtained-off square of the warehouse), and at home, I walk or dance in the living room to upbeat or inspirational shows like "The Biggest Loser," "Glee," or "Dance Your Ass Off."

But, I get nervous. I hate exercising around other people. I'd like to someday try a group exercise class, but am not ready for that yet. In the past months, I've gone to two water-aerobics sessions, and I was emotionally okay, but physically uncomfortable surrounded by so many people flailing about. My discomfort wasn't about my body in a swimsuit, though, for once.

4. I regularly keep up with weight-loss blogs, written not by diet experts, but folks with my same struggle. And I read a great entry today, on Deciding. I'm paraphrasing, but what the blogger Lyn wrote was that every time we put anything bad into our mouths, we are DECIDING to do it. We are not Out Of Control. We can't say "I couldn't help myself." And chalking our "discretions" up to a loss of control is just an excuse.


Okay, enough diet talk for now. So many other good things are happening now...it's so odd to finally feel this way after a lifetime of not really feeling it, but I am excited to be alive...for things that are coming, for my own accomplishments, for my husband, and for my family and friends. I have so many, many things to be grateful for.



Completely unrelated P.S...
I am currently going through my entire scrapbooking-materials collection and weeding, organizing, and USING it. It feels awesome. I have such trouble *implementing*, and I love having a few scrappy friends nearby to do actual cropping with. I spend many happy evenings separating stickers into categories (or, as Dad calls it, taking a bus driver's vacation) these days, and our dining table is set up so I can use it as a craft table when I want. I love it.

Back in the saddle again.

Thank you, Shannon, for inspiring me to get back into journaling!

I was thinking of taking things in a new direction, but am not sure how far that will go.

I love the idea of having a weight loss/diet blog, but am not sure how personal to get with it. (As in--what it's like to be overweight, and how that makes me even more hungry to attain my goal weight [see what I did there? HUNGRY?!! I AM AWESOME]...frustrations and cheating on diets and being lazy and all those things we don't like to talk about.)

It's one thing to be on plan every day and burning 1500 calories more than I ate, and walking in place for two hours and feeling strong and awesome, and getting that thrill from stepping on the scale and seeing a loss...but quite another to talk about the bad stuff. And maybe, just maybe, a blog will keep me a little more accountable for my actions.

I'm not saying that going forward, this blog will be exclusively about my Weight Loss Journey (gag). I am far too obsessed with a zillion other things. I do hope, though, to regularly keep journaling as an update on how I'm doing on the Healthy front.

I haven't been strictly On Plan for...many weeks. Really, since I started taking Paxil. As much as I do like that medication, its effect (that I don't worry about things so much) hasn't made dieting/exercise easy. Because I do best when I am ANAL. I measure everything out to the gram, for serious. I keep track of every calorie burned (Thanks, GoWear Fit device!), I use every spare moment at work to exercise, and I don't go to bed unless I've reached my target calorie burn. And when I follow this routine, I shed the weight quickly and effectively.

But, with Paxil...I don't care! Companion pretzels at Schnucks at 320 calories each? Why not?! Tax Crunch Baskin Robbins ice cream with hot fudge? What the hell, it won't kill me! (until it does.) McD's drive-through in the morning when I have a growly tummy? I DON'T CARE, I JUST WANT IT!

Part of this process is, I know, being in denial. As a fact, I know that I am probably addicted to food. But I don't think I TRULY FEEL that way. People who are addicted to food are 400 pounds, right? They can't go a day without scarfing a dozen doughnuts! They eat their weight at Golden Corral! They drink six cans of soda a day and a full bag of chips! (On a related note, though--this is probably why I will never, ever allow myself to go to Golden Corral.)

I know I need to accept, and ADDRESS, the problem. This is really difficult. I can't even call it 'my problem,' because I'm ashamed. It's so taboo. Yet...I have no trouble copping to my OTHER issues...social anxiety, anal-retentiveness, a tendency to be a pack-rat, etc. Maybe because it's easier to have a sense of humor about them? "No, I won't go to your party because I don't like people." I don't mind saying that. I turn it into a joke. But it's hard to say "I make extremely poor decisions when it comes to food, and I gain a lot of weight because of it." It makes me look out of control. Me, anal-retentive Gen, who needs to only put certain glasses in a designated row in the dishwasher, who uses only a certain type of bookmark, who CRAVES control. Why can't I control THIS?


So....

I hope this continues. I hope I can keep an open dialogue with myself, and anyone who's still around to read this. I want to keep going.

Today has been okay, so far. I have a new Schnucks soup for lunch, and have eaten a yogurt for breakfast and half of my cottage cheese/pickled egg concoction for a morning snack. (Did I mention I also have a sour tooth, in addition to the sweet tooth?) Calories burned thus far: 225 over resting rate. My goal for the next little while is to burn 1000 over resting rate, which is usually 100 calories an hour.