I have to say, up front, that for the most part, I have very supportive parents. I am very lucky that way. And frankly, most parents would have given up by now. I mean, I've done counseling and nutritionists (yes, plural as in I have tried them more than once), Lindora (twice), Weight Watchers (countless times), Fen Phen, diet pills... My weight problem is not new. I've battled it all my life.
So that's how I know that when my mother opens her big mouth and says something painfully awful, it comes from a place of meaning well. But it doesn't ever reduce the sting.
On Friday, I asked my boss for a promotion. Long story short, she had a very curt, formal, non-expressive response and it sent me into a spiral of confusion. When my mom asked me how the meet went, I told her what had happened and my mom, as she does, tried to figure out why it ended the way it did. Whereas my father comes at things like this from a business perspective, my mom comes at a little more like.... well, a woman. LOL.
"Has she ever expressed a dissatisfaction with your appearance or weight? Maybe that's why she wasn't interested?"
To which, without thinking, I spat out "fuck you."
Now, I would never EVER tell my mom to fuck off but God that hurt. I immediately just reacted as if she was some person, and not my mother. But I then broke down crying and yelled at her how hurtful it is when she says such things and how I know plenty of mothers that would just take my side and not judge me and tell me how great I am and that I deserve to be promoted, and so on. She apologized but only after I told her to but then she also started to cry because (I assume) she felt so bad she'd hurt me so deeply. Then she went into the "you know how much I love you" bit and I just suggested we forget that the conversation even happened so that I could get over it and would not have to lord it over her forever and ever.
Mothers and daughters. Complicating lives since the dawn of man.
I find that when I am at my heavier size, I am far more meticulous about my appearance. Is my pony tail in place? Is my makeup all good? Is that horrible pimple on my chin any closer to going the fuck away?
This week, it's a cold sore. Above my lip. It looks hideous. It doesn't matter how else I might look, it's just nasty and it ruins everything. It's dried out and scabbed over and frankly, I feel uglier, greaiser and fatter as a result of it.
I have a date tomorrow night - do I keep it? I wouldn't wanna look at me across a table. I certainly wouldn't want to kiss me. LOL.
Readers, I need advice. Miracle cures? Amazing cover-up makeup ideas? Should I stay home and put a hot compress on it or just throw caution to the wind and show my scabby face to the world?
I'm pretty grossed out right now.
And my holidays? God, I wish people would stop asking me how my "holiday season" was. Wait, let me rephrase that. I wish people who know I am JEWISH would stop asking me how my holiday season was. They are really asking me how my Christmas was and you know, Hanukkah ended weeks ago. Maybe it's just my foul mood today but all I associate the holidays with at this point is copious amounts of bad-for-me-food and I'm over it.
That being said, I sure hope all of you had a nice holiday. HA!
No really, it seems like every time I catch up, every time I get my head above water, you smite me down with your malevolance and here I am, with an eye infection that cost me $60 at the doctor this morning and will cost another $60 for the pill I need to fix it. And don't even get me started on how I pretty much look like Sloth from Goonies.
Well I'm onto you, universe. I see what you're doing and at this time of year, when I am determined to enjoy myself, dammit, you won't stop me.
I guess I can't be surprised that I gained 4 pounds at weigh-in today.
I really stacked the odds against me, in fact. My boss is out of town so I wore jeans today. I couldn't make my 2:25 appointment so I went at 6:30. So whereas I usually have a virtually empty stomach at weigh-in, I had lunch and my afternoon snack in me. Oh, and also, it is currently my - as Meg says - "lady times."
Oh yeah, and lest we forget I have been the human garbage compactor this week.
Lesson learned? Only time will tell. We now resume your regularly scheduled diet...
Here's the problem. When I'm depressed? Usually, you can't force the food on me.
This week? Depression seems to be synonymous with HUNGRY.
I mean, really, I am ravenous. You cannot offer me enough food. And what is it you're offering? Oh, nevermind cause I really don't seem to care. Is it edible? Great! Bring it on!
I've been having financial problems and I was so excited to be OUT in a RESTAURANT last night, courtesy of a generous friend, that I ate as if I'd been starving myself for days. Steak, potatoes, bread, chocolate, wine... God, I felt like royalty.
And you know what? Not a bit of remorse afterward. I admit it. Food is supposed to be only a temporary comfort but I felt so great about my delicious dinner that I went right on ahead and ate crap for lunch today.
And that's just the last two days. Believe me, readers, what I have put in my mouth this last week rivals the all-you-can-eat buffets in Vegas.
I blame the holidays. Damn them and all their happiness and joy and sprit. And delicious food.
Some day soon - like Monday - I'll come to my senses and go back to being a good girl but I am too depressed to not enjoy myself right now.
Go and figure that one out and let me know what you come up with.