consumed

"Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us."
-Peter De Vries

"Well, I hate myself.  I already have a pint of ice cream, a pizza, and mini eclairs.  I don't need these cookies.  I'll have to put something back.  Pizza.  I'll put that back.  I have pizza at home.  But no, that's why I came here.  I want this kind of pizza, not the kind I have at home.

"I'll just put back these eclairs.  I can do without them.  Yes, I feel good about this.  Actually, no, these eclairs remind me of the time when I was in college and went to Publix and bought eclairs and ate them all in my car to soothe the pain of being a gigantic loser.  Those were good memories and I think I want to re-capture them.

"And I really want this ice cream.  And the cookies.  I haven't had the cookies in a long time.

"I'll make chili dogs when I get home.  I don't need this pizza.  But if I bought the pizza, I could have that the day after.  That way I could satisfy my cravings for chili dogs and pizza.  Yeah, I have to keep the pizza.  But I have one at home.  But this one has a cheese stuffed crust.  I'm definitely keeping the pizza.  Nah, the one at home is just as good.

"Okay, pizza is gone.  Too many sweets here.  Okay, ice cream gone.  Just eclairs and cookies.  That's not too bad.

"Okay, the ice cream is back.  I know I can do without it but it will literally be on my mind, making me crazy, until I eat it so it's better to go ahead and get it so I won't drive myself nuts.  But that means I'll have to, have to, put back the cookies.  I've got to compromise.  I don't want to spend too much money.  Or calories.  But my diet is already shot.  What's another weekend binge?

"Damn it.  Okay, keeping the eclairs for sure.  It's just...I'm so annoyed right now and these frozen foods, these processed pizzas, is what soothes me.  I know I'm hurting myself.  This is not normal, healthy behavior.  But I'm sad and so I just don't care.

"Screw it, I'm gonna get the pizza too."

This is an average conversation I have with myself when I go to the grocery store, except I use a lot more foul language and stand around being indecisive for a longer period of time.  People passing by probably think I'm lost.  And in a way, I am.

I've struggled with my weight over half of my life.  You'd think it would be easier to deal with by now but it's not.  I think about food and my weight every single day.  I think about everything I put in my mouth.  I chastise myself for the bad things because I know it will lead to weight gain and I complain to myself about the good things because I know it won't bring satisfaction.  I have to assess my wardrobe every day and wonder what I can or can't wear because I've gotten too big or small.  It's a struggle between calories and comfort.  I get lost in the swirl of butter cream and bat shit crazy and there are days when I wish I could just get it under control.  There are days when I wish I didn't care so much.  Or at all.

There's the logical part of my mind that knows I can lose weight.  I've done it several times before.  But there's the insecure hurting child deep inside that craves the satisfaction that only sugar can provide.  And when it comes to logic and pain, pain will always win out.  It's the underlying weakness that's the strongest force within me, popping up and making its way to the surface during my struggles, filling my cells with the urgent need for food, any carb to curb the current crisis.

It's embarrassing to lose weight and have people notice...and then gain it back...and have people notice.  It's like, "Have you seen Brannon?  He's getting fat again.  He was doing so well.  It's a shame he's letting himself go."  But they just don't get it.  I didn't suddenly find myself overweight and then took control of my body and lost it and that's the end of the story.  It's a constant, brutal struggle to stay sane, slim, and satiated.

It's made even harder because you can see my struggle.  I wear it around my waist.  I feel exposed, like my pain and shortcomings are out there in the open for everyone to see.  It gets tiring and I think it's especially hard because I can't avoid food.  It's in ads in magazines and on television.  It's in my kitchen.  It's always in my head.  It's cultural.  It's social.  Celebrate with food.  Gather the family around a buffet. 

But for me, it's not cultural.  It's not social.  It's emotional.  It's sacred.  It's spiritual.  When I meet someone for dinner, I'm more excited about the meal than the company.  And I want to gather my food and go into a private room and eat it alone.  I want to go through my ritual of chewing and swallowing and savoring, of experiencing different combinations of condiments and mixing all the sides and seasonings.

Every time I eat, it's a religious experience.  Pasta is like a prayer.  It calms and centers me.  It takes away the hurt and the pain.  How could I not want to recapture that transcendence again and again?  Especially when my head is in chaos most of the time.  It's a legal high, a harmless elevation.  But it's only harmless when experienced occasionally.  Otherwise the side effects add up and suddenly I can't button my pants anymore.

I don't want to blame my crappy job or lack of friends for my unhealthy relationship with food but those things really do drive me to eat.  I'd like to say if things were better, I would eat better.  I don't know if that's true.  It's not even a good excuse.  We all have our problems but not all of us deal with them in such unhealthy ways.  Sure, a lot of us do but a lot of us don't.  I just wish I could be one of the healthy ones.

But it hasn't all been a series of failures.  Through writing about my struggles with food and emotional eating, I think I've come about as close as I can to identifying why I eat the way I do.  Unfortunately, that's about as far as I've come.  Despite determining many of the causes of my caustic relationship with food, I have yet to find a way to fix it.  All the multiple episodes of weight loss have occurred despite my bad habits and habitual cravings.  I never cured them, only temporarily deflected them.  But there comes a time when I feel too good, too accomplished, and the ugliness, that weakness, bubbles up again and I'm put back into the clutches of agony and the resulting addiction.

Eventually my body is going to give up.  How many times can you bounce back from extreme weight loss to extreme weight gain?  I also fear eventually my heart will give up.  How many times can you bounce back from extreme accomplishment to extreme failure?

It's mind over matter, food vs face, health and heft.  It's nothing new.  But it doesn't get easier with your head in the way.  And no one understands unless they've been there before, as many times as you have been.  Can I beat it?

I want to sit down to dinner with someone and not have food be the main course.  I want to be satisfied with one slice of pizza.  I want to skip dessert without feeling like I have deprived myself.  I want to go to the grocery store without getting into a mental argument with myself.  I want to be able to skip the candy and enjoy a glass of water.  I want to use food to celebrate, not medicate.  I want to feel normal.

I don't want to starve anymore.

simple moves

I have to say, I've been working out consistently and killing it during many of the sessions.  Just like I did last year, I started out on January 1st and got up and put my trainers on and poured sweat and shredded muscle tissue.

It was actually a lot easier this time around, too, because I'm used to it now.

YES.  I'M USED TO IT.

Prior to last year, working out was equivalent to eating dog crap but now it's no thang.  It's weird but kind of awesome.

That's not to say I haven't had my bad days.  I'll get up and go through the motions sometimes.  And I used to feel bad about it because I feel like if I'm going to work out, it needs to count.  I don't want to waste my time flailing around and not burning enough calories to matter.  But I saw a quote on Facebook that said something like the only bad workout is one you didn't do.  Made me feel better.  Made me realize it does matter.  It does count. 

But, as I said, sometimes I really put 110% into the workout and by the end, I'm drenched in sweat and my body hurts and when I wake up in the morning in pain, I like it.  I know it's actually not good for you to be sore like that but it makes me feel like I really did something so I welcome the pain.

devil on your back

"And every demon wants his pound of flesh..."
-Florence and the Machine, Shake it Out

Do we all have demons?  Are we all required to claim a vice at the beginning of our lives?  The world is stained red and we have to suit up with sex or alcohol just to make it through.  We all feel the pull of pain and we choose different methods of self-medicating.

My method's with the marshmallows.  I eat my feelings.  I stuff down my pain with pasta.  I'm fat.  I'm in the fat group.  That's my addiction.  That's my comfort.  That's my demon.  And it's disheartening to know I'm a part of such a problem.

I'm the fat stomach the camera from one of those news segments covering "Fat America" zooms in on as I walk across the street.  I'm the open mouth stuffing fries into my face.  I am the target audience for diet pill advertisements and fat burning exercise infomercials.  I am inundated with Burger King coupons and thin model magazines.  I'm torn between the temptation and the torture.  My brain is assaulted by all these mixed messages of decadence and deltoids.

The holidays hit me pretty hard.  I have to admit, despite my weight loss and my new healthy attitude toward food, I'm still addicted to the (good) bad stuff.  And for the past two months, I have shoveled food in my mouth at any given opportunity.  Naturally, I let myself go during Thanksgiving and Christmas but I also went wild in the days between.  Let's not forget my birthday was also wedged in there so I had to celebrate with a gigantic pizza and cake.  I ate a lot of fast food and couldn't wait until dessert so I could dig into marble cake with whipped icing or Mom's homemade peanut butter balls with almond bark.  I ate with abandon and didn't give a crap.

I always justified my eating habits by saying it was a temporary holiday thing and I would go back to normal after Christmas.  But now that it's the new year, things are hard.  All I want is more cake and that's something I wouldn't have dreamed of five months ago.  Did I somehow change my chemicals by eating healthier and then changed them again by eating garbage?

If so, the transition begins yet again.

bran before and after

I waited a whole year for this picture.

When I saw the picture of my sister and me together last Christmas, I was heartbroken.  I was so big.  How did I get that large and not notice?  I'm sure I was in denial, sure I could ignore it until things in my life changed for the better so I could focus on bettering myself.  But nothing changed and when I saw the photo, I knew I had to be that change.

I told myself I would not repeat that Christmas picture looking the way I did.  Long time readers will know I've been dieting and exercising all year.  I've lost approximately 50 pounds.  I've probably gained at least 10 of them back in the past 2 months (I've been too ashamed to weigh myself lately so I don't know the exact number) due to birthday bingeing but that's another entry for another time.  For now, I want to focus on the positive.  Yes, I actually can do that sometimes.

I was excited to take this year's Christmas picture, anxious to see the changes.  It wasn't as big of a transformation as I was hoping.  Sure, clothing and lighting and angles play a significant role in revealing the body but I thought 50 pounds would show a more dramatic change. That's not to say I'm not happy with the difference.  I definitely look better and I'm happier where I am right now.  I can mostly tell in my face, which is good.  But I still have a belly.

I'm working on it, though.  I didn't put the weight on in a year and it will take more than a year to lose it.

I'm cool with that as long as I'm always making progress.

Starting January 1st, I'm going to begin my diet and exercise anew and at the end of the year, I'll take another Christmas picture and hopefully I'll see more positive changes.  And no man boobs.

Left: Christmas 2011 with my sister.  Right: Christmas 2012 with my sister.

path

I'm not even an outside person but the cool breeze has been so nice I honestly felt guilty for not going outside and soaking it up.  It seems it's hot the majority of the year, freezing for a portion of it, and then there's about two good weeks of perfect weather.  I didn't want it to go to waste so I have been walking outside more.

There's a dirt road next to my house that I walk along.  Sometimes the foliage gets a little overgrown and it does a number on my legs.  Lately, they've been breaking out into a rash (even when I wear athletic pants to cover them) and there's also the occasional douche bag that doesn't slow down when they pass me and it kicks up dirt into my eyes.  But when the weather is cool and the sweat is flowing and no one is around but me and the cows, it's great.

salt soul

I finished Insanity on a lackluster note last week.  I had a lot of plans with people after work and that made it hard to exercise because I got home late and had to be up early for work and I also gave myself the lame excuse that one more week wasn't going to make a difference.  I didn't have a six pack before that last week and I wasn't going to have one after.  I think I worked out three out of the six days I was supposed to, which isn't terrible but I really wanted to finish strong.

Not a great end but the fact that I pushed myself for two months and sweat buckets each time is great.  I have muscle definition in my arms and I can do way more push ups and crunches than before I started and I have way more stamina...ladies.

I want to go back to the 8-week workout I started back in January.  I thought it would be a good idea to cycle through all my fitness programs  but I also want to take a week to do some lower intensity workouts, like my mom's walking DVDs, before I hit it hard again.  You know, something to give the old knees a break from all that Insanity pounding. 

Just for kicks, I popped in my P90 DVD two nights ago and breezed through the workout!  Insanity has really gotten me in better shape.  I remember huffing and puffing through P90 when I did it several months ago but this time around I was really able to keep up.  That was a good feeling.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still tubby and tire easily...just not as tubby and don't tire as easily.  It's improvement and I'll take it!

I've also tried to incorporate walking outside because the weather has been gorgeous lately.  I'll post pictures of my route on my next entry.

I've been a bit more relaxed with my workout schedule.  Since I'm not following any program, I don't feel as compelled to be strict, which is good and bad.  I haven't reached my goal weight so I shouldn't be so relaxed but at the same time, I have worked hard this year and I'm really just taking an easy week or two but I do intend on going hard again, even through Thanksgiving and Christmas.  With my work schedule and family obligations and tons of turkey, I'm sure I won't be able to exercise every day but that's okay.  As long as I keep going.

I think I'll be able to.

It's only the days that I want to exercise that I don't that bother me.  I also need to add that I've been eating badly lately.  Lots of candy.  Slipping in more and more fatty foods.  I need to reel the cheating in big time.  I'm being too lenient with my diet.  I can understand slacking off on the exercise after the boot camp from hell I went through for two months but food should remain non-negotiable. 

So when I eat crap and then don't exercise on a day I'm supposed to, it worries me.  Sometimes I don't get up and go but other times, despite my internal conflict, I push it all aside and just do it.  By the time I've got my shoes on, all hesitation is gone and I'm good to go.

I just feel better when I exercise.  Don't get that statement wrong.  I haven't turned into one of those people.  I don't physically feel better but I do mentally.  It's one more victory, one more fight against the calories I've consumed, one more attempt at creating a balance.  I'm starting to see that every bit of physical exercise is worth it, despite how I felt about the last week of Insanity not making a difference.  Sure, I wasn't going to get ripped but I could have burned off some of those extra candy calories. 

It's just when I wake up in the morning and I'm hurting, when it's difficult to bend my legs to get out of bed, I love it (although it's actually not good because it means I didn't sufficiently stretch) because it makes me feel like I really worked out, really pushed myself.  It's like how I feel when I sweat profusely.  I know I accomplished something.

I also hope some of that salt has seeped past the skin, that a switched has been flipped on, that I'll continue to be physical because I know I need to be.  Food is such a temptation for me and I am still so weak, despite the weight loss, despite turning down doughnuts, I still struggle.  And exercise is a good way to offset the days when I can't say no.  I hope exercising becomes a part of me, something I do regularly.  It doesn't have to be every day but at least four times a week.  And not even every week.  Maybe some days I can do five days a week and others three.  I don't have to be strict about it but I need to be firm, to keep myself accountable and remind myself that I need to get up and go, to feel the fat fall away as the sweat pours out. 

binge and not break

Yesterday, I felt I ate too much.

I really tried not to freak out about it because I've made so much progress when it comes to slipping up.  I've learned (or thought I had) that I can just let it go, realize that making a few missteps here and there will not undo all the progress I've made.  I know that.

But it will slow me down.  And now that I'm so close to reaching my goal and because it's so close to the end of the year, I really want to stay strong and not mess up so I can be sure I'll reach my goal weight by Christmas.

It's not even that I ate really terrible foods but I just ate too much during my three meals.  I'm constantly comparing the foods I eat to how much I exercised and thinking if it will cancel each other out.  For example, if I feel I really pushed myself with a great workout, I might have an extra serving during meal time or opt for a low fat dessert afterward.  Or if I feel I just went through the motions during the workout, I'll cut back on my food intake to try and compensate.  Just trying to create balance, y'all.

Yesterday, I did really well as far as cardio.  It was so nice outside and I had to take advantage of the cool wind so I went walking for an hour and I was such a BAMF that I immediately went inside and did an hour of Insanity.  Two hours of exercise?  That's just not me.  I'm such a lazy, unmotivated person.  But not yesterday!

So maybe subconsciously I gave myself some jiggle room and ate too much.  But during every meal?  What I should have done is been proud of all the calories I burned and kept it that way instead of replacing them with heaping piles of noodles and cheese.  But I love noodles and cheese.

So I'm a bit pissed at myself and kind of embarrassed about it because I feel like one of those people who are obsessed with every calorie they take in and freak out over having too many Tic Tacs.  I'm definitely not like that.  Yet.

This certainly isn't the first time I've overdone it with food.  But I think this is one of the few times I haven't planned it.  Usually when I cheat, I plan it out.  I tell myself that I will have pizza on Saturday.  That way, I still have control.  I know when I'm going to be bad because I've planned it and allowed it and I've internalized it and accepted it and it's okay.  But yesterday, I didn't plan it.  I didn't allow it.  It just happened and that took away my control.  And that sent me into a minor flush of frustration  

I'll be okay.  That one day is not going to undo all the hard work I've managed to accomplish.  But I guess it goes to show that no matter how much mental progress I've made in regards to trying to lose weight in an emotionally healthy way, I'm still going to encounter setbacks and self-loathing from time to time.  The key is not to let it envelop me.  The key is to acknowledge it and simply move on from it.  Tomorrow is a new day and a new chance to do better.  And in fact, I have done better today.  See, there ya go.  There's always a chance to start over, to regain focus, to renew drive, to throw out punishment and take in awareness and acceptance. 

salt lips

I thought I knew about sweating when I was doing Power 90 but I had no idea how profuse the perspiration would be until I started Insanity.

I'm now on my 2nd week of the 2nd month.  It's weird to think I only have 3 weeks left.  It's went by pretty fast, which I'm grateful for because I get bored easily.  I'm already ready to move on to another program and in about another month, I can.

Insanity will be the 3rd fitness program I've finished this year.  I did the X Factor ST workout, which is an 8 week program.  Then I did Power 90, which lasts 90 days.  And now I'm on Insanity, which is 2 months.  I took a couple of days off between programs and then had a break when I had my surgery but except for those few occasions, I've been pretty consistent and have been doing well and that feels pretty good.

But Insanity doesn't.

The actual program is every bit as tough and sweat-filled as the infomercials suggest.  I'm sweating buckets within the first five minutes and it doesn't stop until well after I've finished.  And now that I'm in month 2, the workouts are longer, sometimes lasting an hour.  Imagine throwing your body on the floor and across the room and slinging sweat for 60 whole minutes, with only 30 second breaks here and there.  It's tooouuughhhh. 

I bend over to stretch and the sweat pours into my eyes and mouth.  It's like diving headfirst into the ocean.  I hate the ocean.

I hate to sweat.  I sweat all the time and it's annoying.  I usually sweat at work while everyone else complains about being cold.  What the what?  But when I'm working out, I welcome the sweat.  I've already mentioned it makes me feel like I'm really accomplishing something.  And when I'm on the floor, trying not to cry and/or throw up from the pain in my back and arms, I look over at my shoulders and see the sheen of sweat and how they are becoming more and more defined each day and it gives me that push I need to get up and toss myself across the room one more time.

I taste the ocean.  I taste the pain.  I taste the triumph of one more day accomplished.

fluctuation frustration

The compliments keep pouring in...

Last week, I rang the doorbell at work to be let in and a coworker unlocked it for me and as he opened the door, he said, "Get your skinny ass in here!"

That was a nice way to start the day.

Later on, another coworker and I were talking and she said, "Are you still on that diet?"

I nodded.

"Well, there's almost nothing left of you!"

That was also nice.  And it was flattering but there's plenty left of me.

A former co-worker came in just a day or two ago and also commented on the fact that I had lost weight.  And today, a co-worker that only comes in once a month asked me if I had lost some weight.

"About 47 pounds now," I said.  I've been fluctuating between 47-48 for the past two weeks or so.

"And I'm just now noticing?"

It seems to be that way.  I received a few remarks here and there when I lost 20 pounds and then a couple more once I hit 30 but mostly no one said anything.  But now that I'm almost at 50 pounds down, it's getting noticed from all angles and of course, it's fantastic.  But I just don't get it.  

As I've mentioned before, I still have that "fat guy" mentality.  My brain can't keep up with my body in terms of being fat and skinny.  I feel like I don't see what others are seeing.  Sure, my chest looks a little flatter to me.  My arms are more defined.  But I can't get past my large stomach that pushes against my shirts or the way my thighs still jiggle when I work out.  It's almost as if my smaller parts accentuate the larger ones.

It's frustrating being so close to the 60 pounds I wanted to lose and realizing a couple of things: my weight loss is slowing down and it's getting harder to lose that last little bit and keep my willpower up and I see now that 60 pounds isn't going to be enough.  Once I hit my goal, I'll take a bit of a break.  Maybe have a pizza.  And then I'm going to have to go back at it.

I also realized that I've dedicated this year to losing all that weight.  I've been dieting and exercising almost every day since January.  I took some time off when I had my throat surgery but once I was healed, I picked up where I left off.  I've been so focused on losing weight, concentrating on portion control and cardio, that I have neglected my movie watching and book reading and book writing.  I have almost completely abandoned my memoir.  I just honestly feel like I'll never get it finished because I keep stopping.  I almost don't even want to talk about it/write about it anymore because it's embarrassing that I've been spouting off about it for all these years and still have nothing to show for it except a half-edited first draft.

But I guess it's not so bad.  Once I get my weight under control, that will be one less thing to obsess over so maybe that'll open up space in my head for creativity and give me more room to write.  But still, I can't help but to feel bad that I took a year out of my life just to correct a problem that shouldn't have been there in the first place.  And it seems like a waste.  But I can't look at it that way, I know.

One thing at a time.  Lose the bulge, write the book.  And I can remember that it was worth it 'cause I'll look really good for my book jacket photo.

dysmorphism

As I previously mentioned, you can look in my closet and see I can clothe a multitude of men in various size ranges.  I've kept my clothes from when I was fatter and thinner.  In some ways, it's good that I keep the smalls and the extra larges waiting in the recesses of my closet because I honestly never know when I'll need to pull them back out.  My weight has fluctuated so much in the past that I can never what size I'm going to be from year to year.

I talked with two co-workers the other day and somehow we got on the topic of pants and I pulled up my droopy khakis and said, "Yeah, looks like it's about time I get some smaller pants.  Again.  This'll be two sizes I've gone down now."

One co-worker, a short black woman with sarcastic inclinations looked me up and down and then peered at me over her thick-framed black glasses.  "Okay, now, how far are you wanting to get?  You're going to blow away here directly."

It was a nice compliment but I didn't understand her.  I was far from blowing away.  In fact, I'm still about 20 pounds over my college weight.  I mentioned this to her and she told me I was too skinny in college.

"I looked through your Facebook pictures," she said.  "To be honest, you looked kind of sickly.  The way you are right now is perfect.  I can't imagine that handsome face sinking in any more."  The other co-worker, a petite white girl with a wide smile looked at her and then me and nodded in agreement.

Maybe I look perfect to her but I'm still a long way from being happy with my body.  It also made me realize I never really know what people think of me.  I can always assume the worst but that's not always the case.  In her eyes, I look fine.  She wasn't secretly thinking I was fat and disgusting, like assumed everyone else does.  And the bigger question: if I can't see myself the way I am in a physical sense, am I also seeing myself differently in the ways I behave and interact with people?  Is that why I get along with mostly no one?  Am I a flaming asshole and everyone can see it but me?

But going back to the physical, I know it shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks of me but it does.  And maybe it's okay to care, or at least take it into consideration.  It's when you become obsessed with it that things begin to go awry.  And, of course, I'm in the obsessed category.  But I didn't need to be.  Here are these two people who think my size is perfectly acceptable.  I wondered who else felt the same way.  I'm always so fixated on the negative aspects of myself that I either don't notice the good stuff or simply gloss over it.

As much as I'm obsessed with what people think of me, I'm also concerned with how I see myself.  Compliments don't go very far with me.  Don't get me wrong, I love them.  When people notice I'm thinner or that I'm having a good skin or hair day, I love it.  But their compliments don't dictate my confidence like it used to.  At least not in regards to my physical appearance.

My size is my own.  For some, I am fine.  For others, I am still too fat.  And as hard as it is for me to contemplate, the chubby chasers out there might think I'm too thin at this point.  So it doesn't make much sense to worry about how others see me because there will always be someone who is not satisfied with my body.  And even further, someone who is not satisfied with my behavior or attitude.  As much as I've tried in the past to mold myself to fit everyone else's standards, I can't do that anymore.  I won't do that anymore.

I'm trying to be happy with myself, to look in the mirror and feel good about what that guy says instead of everyone else.  I want to feel good about how I'm looking and acting and feeling.  Other people matter but I realize that I only have myself when it's a said and done and I have to love who I am, through and through.  No one else is going to be there to help me love me.  I don't love me yet but I do see I need to get there at some point.

I'm really trying to simultaneously improve what I can while accepting what I cannot.  I have these fleeting moments of self-acceptance, or as near to that as I can muster at this point in the game.  I'm trying to get to a place where I am comfortable with myself but it's hard when I continue to destroy my face and body.  I lose weight and feel good and then I gain it back and hate myself and all the progress is undone.  I'm constantly building up and tearing myself down and it's exhausting.  I have no consistency in my life.  I tread and drown and rise up and dive back into the depths.  But mostly I float, letting the world pull me along and drag me under.

All the while my eyes are closed.

wardrobe malfunction

On Sunday, I went shopping from my own collection of clothing.  When I packed up my belongings after college graduation, I placed the majority of my clothes in three giant plastic bins.  When I got home from school, I unloaded the bins from my car but not the clothes.  They went into storage.  What was I using them for?  I didn't have a job and didn't have a legitimate reason to get out of my sleep pants.  Pajama Jeans and Snuggies hadn't yet come onto the scene so my elastic cotton bottoms and oversized t-shirts comprised my wardrobe.  I like to stay classy when I can.

And then I gained all that weight and I knew nothing would fit because, out of the articles of clothing I did take out, they were too tight.  I reasoned the rest would be as well.

But now that I've lost 47 pounds, I'm almost back to my college weight.  I decided to bust out the old clothes and see if any of them fit again.  Much to my surprise, a lot of them did.  I tried on every piece and kept the ones that still fit/I still liked and removed the ones I was no longer interested in having.

Some were still too tight but it didn't bother me because they were size small and I was just flabbergasted that I was ever able to fit into a small at all.  It just confirms the fact that I cannot see my body how it is.  I thought I was fat in college but I was wearing size small?  That doesn't make much sense.  I neatly folded the shirts and sweaters and placed them back in the bin and hoped the next time I busted them out, the ones that were still too tight would finally fit again.

And I had a lot of clothes.  I went through my closet and removed the shirts and jeans that are now too big for me and put them in with the pile I no longer wanted.  I've done this more times than I care to admit.  It feels like I'm always shrinking and expanding, buying up a size and then down a size and that makes for a very cramped closet.

I usually wear the same couple of shirts and jeans all the time because they are comfortable and they fit and I like the way they look.  As I eyed all the clothes I had collected over the years, sizes ranging from small to extra large, I realized I didn't like a lot of my clothes.  When you're a bigger guy, it's hard to shop.  The things that look good on thin people don't look good on you.  You get to be a certain size and everything hangs on you like a shower curtain.  And that's the way I was for a long time.  I often bought clothes because I needed a larger size, not because I liked the way they looked or felt.  I had given up, shopping out of necessity instead of pleasure.

But my body has changed again and I don't feel as defeated when it comes to clothing.  I still don't feel great about it.  I'm still big.  But not as big and shirts and jeans aren't as intimidating.

It was bittersweet going through the mini mountains of stretched out shirts and faded jeans with the beginnings of holes worn into them.  I've made so much progress but it feels kind of empty because I'm just re-losing the weight I already lost.  Most people I know in real life who I don't see on a regular basis probably won't even realize I had to lose the weight all over again.  It's not exactly brag-worthy.  Oh, yeah, remember how I lost all that weight?  Well, I regained it all and then had to lose it again just to go back to being chubby.  My life is a mess and I can't control my weight.  How are you doing?  You gonna finish that?

If only I could have just kept going, kept losing while I was already halfway thin.  Maybe I'd finally be in great shape today instead of working so hard just to be back to where I was three years ago.  I try not to dwell on those kinds of thoughts, though.  They don't help matters.  A lot of people don't realize that I have an illness or addiction or eating disorder or whatever you want to call it.  It's a struggle every single day not to give in to the temptation that taps at my brain.

I'm still not where I want to be but at least I'm not where I was.

insanity

I'm on the third week of the Insanity fitness program and it's every bit as intense and intimidating and painful as the advertisements suggest.

I feel like there's nothing left of me after every workout.  I'm pouring sweat within 5 minutes of the typically 40 minute programs and I'm completely drenched by the end of it.  I've never sweat like that before and have never felt so exhausted by the end of a workout.  My arms and legs are screaming and my lungs are gasping for air and I feel like I've just endured a boot camp session from hell.

But my title doesn't refer to the program.  It refers to my mental condition regarding my continual struggle to lose weight.  I noticed my weight loss started to slow down so I began the Insanity program to kick things back into gear.  Additionally, I started taking Alli consistently and have tried to cut sugar out of my diet.  I hoped the pounds would really drop with all that going on but they haven't.  Yeah, I'm still losing but it's still going so slowly.

I hit a plateau recently where I could not get under 200 pounds.  It was so frustrating because not only was I not losing any weight but I could not break that 200 pound barrier.  It was also frustrating because every plateau was time wasted.  When I committed to losing weight back in January, I wanted to lose 60 pounds in 6 months (10 pounds a month, average of 2 pounds a week, which is safe and recommended) but it's now the 8th month and I've only lost 44 pounds.  I'm very behind and it scares me because I do not want to be overweight for Christmas.  I know I have a few more months left and I even told myself that I had a couple of months of cushion room in case I didn't make my goal right on time but that cushion is slowly dwindling.  And now that I'm running out of time, I'm feeling the pressure to knock of these last 20-30 pounds.

But fortunately, I have finally broken the 200 pounds mark and I am down to 194.8 and it feels good but I am just so impatient and just want the weight to be off already.  I'm already exhausted from the Insanity workouts and frustrated because I can't eat pizza and all I want to do is inhale one so bad.  I know having a cheat day every once in a while is acceptable but not for me.  I'm an all or nothing kind of guy and I've put up a dam when it comes to food and as soon as I let a little grease slip through, the dam will break and I'll find myself on the floor, clutching a Little Debbie in both hands with lard dribbling down my chin.

Despite the 44 pounds lost, I'm still fat.  How much more do I need to lose before I feel good about myself?

There's been this wave of weight loss at work.  Several of my coworkers have gotten on these health kicks and have lost anywhere from 10-20 pounds and they are thin and look great and they didn't have as much to lose or had to work as hard as I have and it sucks because I've lost twice as much as they have and yet I'm still bigger than all of them.

They've reached their goal and can move on with their lives.  But even when I reach my goal, I won't be able to move on with my life.  This is forever.  I'll be on a diet when I die.

It also upsets me that I can't see my progress.  Well, I can.  I look in the mirror or see older pictures of myself and I can see a thinning in my face and frame but I still think my perspective is skewed.  I don't see enough change to be encouraged.  I have a problem seeing my body they way it is.  When I was heavier, I mostly ignored my condition.  I ate because I was depressed and couldn't see the damage I was doing.  I was in survival mode, eating so I wouldn't throw myself onto railroad tracks.

But when I finally faced it, I couldn't see how big I had gotten.  You have to remember, I was thinner in college, the thinnest I had been in my young adult life, so I graduated being as close to thin as I have ever been.  I fell into an intense depression after college and I went into my room at 174 pounds and came out of my room at 238 pounds and although it didn't happen overnight, it felt like it did.  I think in some ways I still saw myself as still being thin because the weight slowly crept up on me.  I was used to seeing myself as thin and since I didn't face myself as I gained the weight, I went along unaware.  I wouldn't have noticed at all except for the fact that none of my jeans or shirts fit anymore.  And they weren't just a bit snug.  I literally couldn't put my clothes on.

And now that I've lost weight, I can't see how smaller I've become because I've shifted my perspective to being "the fat guy" again.  I couldn't see how big I had gotten and it's only now that I've lost quite a bit of that weight that I'm starting to see how big I was/still think I am.  My body is always changing and my mind is always working to keep up with the bingeing and purging of fat.

It's hard but not impossible.  I'm going to keep going and I'll probably continue to be unsatisfied with my performance and the slow rate of weight loss, all along beating myself up for over eating and under exercising.  But it'll be all right because I'll get there.

But this is forever, remember.  So when I get there, I'll have to then shift my focus and fight to stay there.  No matter how much weight I lose or gain or maintain, I'll always be the fat guy.  I'll always have that mentality, always think about how what I put in my mouth will make me fat again.  My head goes to fat content and calories and the fear that comes along with it all.  There's no taste without trepidation, no dinner without despondency, no satisfaction without slicing myself open.              

musculature

Saturday night, I had a date.
.
.
.
.
.
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With a pizza.

I so looked forward to getting off work and grabbing a mocha frappe and then coming home and getting it on with a spicy Italian pie.  We chatted for a bit (preheat oven) and as soon as the oven dinged, things got hot and heavy pretty fast (400 degrees for 12 minutes) and we had an enjoyable time together.

Now that's amore.

And for liquid afterglow, I drank down the frappe like my happiness depended on it.  'Cause in many ways, it did.  It was over way too soon but I was ravenous.  My carnal cravings had kicked in and needed to be satisfied.

And several weeks ago, I went to dinner with an acquaintance and had a cheesy turkey sandwich with sliced and seasoned potatoes.  Then we went to Starbucks where I got a 5,000 calorie frozen coffee drink and (this is embarrassing) then we drove across the street to Taco Bell where I got 4 Doritos Locos tacos.

So, in case you weren't aware, I haven't been doing well on my diet at all.  Of course, I blame my rude acquaintance and the fact that my social life, work life, and life life sucks for why I've been sucking up food like a gluttonous vacuum.

Despite that, I've actually been pretty consistent with my working out, which surprises me.  I hate exercise more than I love food and so I'd almost rather not eat than work out.  Maybe there's been a shift in my head.  And maybe the working out has offset the terrible eating and that's why I haven't gained any more weight.

But I certainly haven't lost any.  The sixth month of the year is winding down, which means I should be sixty pounds lighter.  I'm only thirty.  I've been down thirty pounds for three months now, fluctuating between gaining two pounds and losing three and gaining one and losing one, etc.  And it sucks.

But muscle does weigh more than fat so maybe I'm still slimming down (albeit extremely slowly) and the scale is just representing the muscle that I've put on.  I can tell there's more definition in my arms and my legs look and feel pretty good.  It's just my meddlesome midsection that's holding me back from feeling good about myself.

I've been doing the old school Power 90 (I'm almost at day 60 with only a month left) and I can tell my endurance has increased.  I can last longer, go harder, and can do more push ups and crunches than when I first started.

The worst part, as it's always been, is getting started.  The monotony has settled in big time.  I'm just tired of putting on my shoes and turning Pandora on and listening to the same ten songs (although I choose different stations frequently) and doing the same routine day after day.  I was excited to switch to the second phase of Power 90 but I forgot the only difference is there's another round of cardio at the end of each segment.  Nothing else is switched up.  I know I can do different workouts but I really want to see these 90 days through to the end.

But once I get up and get going, it's not so bad.  Because I'm so familiar with the routine, I know when I'm close to being done and knowing I'm almost finished helps push me through the last little bit.  And I enjoy the sweat.  When it rolls down my face and stings my eyes, it makes me feel like I really did something.  I've started to enjoy the ache of exerted muscles, the fatigue, the wobbly limb feeling of giving it my all.

Also, I've had to switch to a smaller belt.  I've already bought smaller work pants and will have to buy more soon.  I bought smaller jeans today.  My pajama tops are getting looser and my torso isn't rubbing up against the fabric like it used to.  It's nice.

I've also been getting compliments from people, which is also nice.

But I'm still not where I want to be.  I feel like I need to crank up my diet and start eating better.  At the same time, I haven't beaten myself up over my nutritional mishaps like I used to in the past.  I've just realized that I'm weak when it comes to food and that's okay.  I can say no to bad food choices five hundred times in a row but that doesn't mean I've conquered it.  I never will but that doesn't mean I can't put up a fight.  That also doesn't mean all the times I've given in will negate all the times I didn't.  For example, despite those four Doritos Locos tacos, I'm still getting thinner.  It's taken a bit more time, sure, but it's not as if that one delicious mistake has caused me to gain all my weight back.

I don't want to be the poster boy for cheating on a diet but really, it's not that huge of a deal.  Just don't cheat every day with every meal and you should be fine.  It's taken me a long time to learn that and I feel good knowing that it is okay to have a taco here or a pizza and frappe there.

I was so excited to come home and enjoy this.  Who needs a companion when you have carbs? :| If only carbs could cuddle.

battlefield

Just as I suspected, as soon as I started making progress with my weight loss, I stopped trying as hard.

I have yet to get past thirty pounds.  I'll get really close and then gain another pound and then lose it and then gain two and then lose three and then gain it all back again, etc.  My eating is not great and I'm getting tired of my workouts.  I know I can change it up and do a different workout but I think I'm just tired of exercising in general.  I'm tired of the monotony of getting up and putting on my shoes and bouncing and punching and kicking for half an hour.  I'm also tired of not being able to have pizza.

Like I mentioned before, it took losing some of my fat to realize how fat I was.  As the pounds started coming off, I became more critical of myself.  I think it took me getting serious about losing weight again to see how bad I had let myself go.  Despite my thinning frame, all I could see was fat.  I was oblivious to how big I was.  I most likely just blocked out the fat because I couldn't handle it but once I knew I was making a difference and taking the weight off, I allowed my eyes to be opened to the damage I had done to myself.

The thing that sucks the most about being a big guy is even though I've lost thirty pounds, I'm still fat.  A fact that people still point out.

I still say retail is horrible.  It's demeaning and thankless and you run into some of the rudest people.  I had a guy come in the other day who needed help finding a dress shirt.  Like most guys who come in, he didn't know what the numbers on the shirts represented but he said he was a small, which was around a 14 1/2. 

"What size do you wear?" he asked with a smirk.  Completely irrelevant question but I knew where he was going with it.

"Probably a 16 1/2," I answered with a slight sigh.

"Yeah, you're a big boy, aren't ya?"

"Yeah, I am, and I'm working on it," I said and then walked away from him without another word.  What a dick.

I've had similar experiences at work with people calling me fat, whether they said it subtly or straight out.  I already struggle with trying to lose weight and trying to remain determined and it doesn't help when I get that kind of negative attention because of my body shape.  It's another deterrent.  

Despite the douche, I have had two other experiences where I ran into people I hadn't seen in a long time and they both noticed I had lost weight and told me I looked good.  And that felt good.  But not good enough to keep me going, at least not in the long run.  It temporarily motivates me until the depression sets in again and nothing settles my soul (and my stomach) like chocolate chip cookie dough.

I still struggle every single day.  When I get off work, frustrated and mentally exhausted, the only thing I can see is fast food.  The only thing I want is ice cream.  And when it comes to exercising, it's the last thing I want to do.  Food is forever my temptress.  My mind is forever my tormentor.  My body is forever a battlefield and representation of the feud between me and food.

All you have to do is take a look at me to see who is winning that day.

stitches & stuff

About two weeks ago, I noticed that the end of my incision was slightly opened and a stitch was poking out.  I don't know how it happened but it was red and hurt to touch.  You know, just when I think things are starting to get resolved, I've got another problem.

So I made an appointment to see the doctor.  The first thing he did was lean me back in the chair and immediately stuck a sharp metal instrument in the incision.  It felt like a bee had just landed on me throat and stung me.

"I know it feels a bit weird," he said as he dug around in there.  "Well, I can't get to the stitch.  I'd have to cut your throat."  I wasn't sure what he meant by that.  I was too stunned by the pain to make much sense of anything and didn't think to ask him for clarification.  I think he might have been trying to either tie everything back up or maybe he was just trying to clip the excess stitch.

I was basically worried that the incision would heal wrong because of the slight opening but he assured me it was okay.  He told me to put some ointment on it until the redness went down so I guess that's all I can do.  Hopefully it'll clear up soon.  Other than that, it's healing as nice as can be expected.

persistence

"I wanna be able to eat spaghetti bolognaise
and not feel bad about it for days and days and days..."
-Lily Allen, Everything's Just Wonderful

Last week, I finished an eight week workout program.  I planned on taking around two days off before starting something else.  I ended up taking three days off, and in that time, starting eating too much.  I knew I needed to try to counteract that.

I felt I had been too lenient with my diet, and although I hadn’t been scarfing down cheeseburgers, I just felt I had been eating too much.  It doesn’t matter if the food I’m eating is low fat/low calorie, if I eat a ton of them (which I thought I had been doing), then those calories add up.  Low calorie is not an excuse to gorge.

So, last night I decided I needed to work out.  But I was tired and I didn’t want to.  I told myself I’d do it the next day, that I would even do a double workout.

But I know myself better than that.

I just got up and did it.  At first I thought I’d take things lightly, maybe do a mile or two but then I realized if I was going to go, I might as well go hard (hard as in moderate).

It felt good to just get up and do it.  It felt good to see myself changing, to see myself starting to make better choices.

Just like when I go grocery shopping and my stomach growls at the candy and pizzas but I just keep going.  I look away and reach for the lower fat, healthier options.

It feels good to be able to leave all of that stuff behind me.  And it feels good to get up and go because I know I need to.  That’s not to say that this is a new lifestyle, that I will continue to make good choices.  But every bit counts, does it not?  Every calorie saved is important.  Every calorie burned is important.

And even if I screw up today, I can feel good knowing I at least did something good for myself yesterday.

Because that’s all I have: today, yesterday, tomorrow.  One day at a time.  Sometimes one hour at a time.  One choice at a time.  One decision at at time.  One workout at a time.  One baked instead of fried at at time.  One serving instead of two at a time.

This is a process.  This is not a cure.  This is not a solution.  This is a struggle, a life-long head game, a siren that will always call to me, an addiction that will carry me to my grave.

I just hope, once I'm there, I can finally enjoy a pizza without guilt as the garnish.

choices

I've been dieting and exercising since January 1st and so far I've lost 14 pounds.  And I feel like crap.

As I've mentioned, if I can't have my favorite foods, I get irritable and every thing and every person I come across only serve to exacerbate my frustration with a lack of pizza and pasta.  My body aches from the workouts (even though I stretch thoroughly before and after) and I don't feel like I'm losing the weight fast enough.

It's actually ridiculous because I'm losing weight at a great pace, averaging around 2 pounds a week, which is low and slow and the way to go.  But it just still sucks because I have the mentality that every time I turn down a slice of cheesecake, I should automatically lose 10 pounds as a reward because, let's face it, it's hard to say no to cheesecake (or insert your favorite dessert/food of choice).

But, that's what I've been doing.  I've been turning down cheesecake slices and trips to Mexican restaurants.  I've been eating less and eating healthier.  I have not drastically changed my diet but I have cut out 99% fast food consumption and have began to decrease my portion size for my meals.  And I've been working out every single day (except for designated off days included in my workout plans) and I'm pretty proud of that, especially considering where I came from at the end of the year, which was basically me sitting around and not moving whatsoever and eating garbage all day long.

And I think that's pretty healthy.  Normally, when I get on a health kick, when the light switch in my mind flips up, I go hard, eliminating all junk and sweets, eating tiny portions and guzzling water, essentially shocking my system.  I used to punish myself for over eating, feeling guilty for the rest of the day and over exercising to the point of queasiness.

But not this time around.  I'm really trying to do this responsibly and not go on a crash diet or exercise frenzies.  I think a part of it is because I am actually still trying to get into the right frame of mind for weight loss.  It's like the light switch is stuck in the middle.  The light is on, just dimmed, flickering.  That's not necessarily a bad thing.  I'm not being crazy about this whole thing.  I'm just trying to be conscious of what I'm doing to myself.

The other part, however, is because I just don't feel like I have it in me anymore to be super strict about dieting and exercise.  I'm vapor with no substance and I cannot move anything.  I've just been solely concentrating on not dissipating entirely.  And with that focus comes a half-hearted concentration on other goals, including 70% exertion during exercise and an extra bite or two of bread.

a funny thing happened on the way to my toes

It's weird to me how out of touch we can become with ourselves.  We go along, oblivious to our actions, behaviors, perceptions, or in some cases, our bodies.  As for me, I think I've been oblivious to it all, walking and working and eating and sleeping with my head in a different dimension.

When I entered college, I was the thinnest I had been in years.  And it took me several years to get to that weight.  Yet, I still thought I was fat.  Did I still have a fat boy outlook on life?  Could I not accept that I was no longer the chubby dude who could draw, as I was known as in high school?  Was I so out of touch with myself that I didn't notice the way I was thinning out?  What was I truly seeing when I was looking at my body?  Was I seeing the physical or the fear?

When I graduated, I returned home and became depressed and ate to cope.  And I gained all the lost weight back.  Plus some.  All the while, I still remained unaware.  I lived in elastic sleep pants so any expansion went unnoticed.  Yet, I looked in the mirror every day.  How did I not see my face getting fuller?  Was I out of touch with myself?  Or was I just not wanting to see the changes?  Was I denying myself, lying to myself yet again?  Or maybe I was just too apathetic to deal so I looked but I didn't really look.  I ignored.  And I carried on.

It's just sad to look back and realize all those years I worked at losing the weight was ruined.  All the calorie counting, the sacrifice, the working out and sweating and being frustrated, all gone.  All wiped out.  And I'm left where I began.  I have a long, hard journey ahead of me to lose the weight all over again.  It feels like such a waste of time, like I should have already conquered this, like this shouldn't even be an issue.  I have so many other aspects of my life I need to figure out and weight shouldn't be one of them.  But it is.  But it always will be.

I can do it again.  That is not the question.  The question is how long can I make it last before I succumb to this sickness one more time?  And how many times do I have left in me?

It's weird how we can lie to ourselves, how we can become estranged from our own bodies, minds, and souls.  You'd think you would know yourself and know more about yourself than anyone else but that simply is not true.  You are in your head every minute of the day and you have access to all that you know and believe yet you can still be disconnected from yourself, still not even know who you really are.  It's kind of astounding, actually.

Once, I was who I was and then something happened and I wasn't who I was anymore.  But I didn't know that.  I lost myself, somewhere deep within my mind or soul or psyche or whatever.  I became disconnected.  Broken.  And maybe that's how I lost my way.  I wasn't whole and because of that, I veered off my path and ran right into a ditch.  I've been stuck there ever since.

I've been working out ever since the first of the year.  I get off work and all I want to do is eat a pizza and take a nap but I don't do that.  I change out of my work clothes and pop in a workout DVD and get going.  And I hate it.  Every time.  And I dread doing it and I never feel better afterward.  I'm still waiting around for those alleged endorphins to kick in.  But I keep going because I know I'm doing something good for myself, although it doesn't feel too good.

Usually I wear athletic pants to work out in because it makes me hotter and makes me sweat more.  Helps get rid of some of that water weight.  Plus, I just like to be covered up at all times.  I'm painfully modest.  But I recently split the pants right down the crotch because of my huge package because I stretched too far and ripped them and all I had was a pair of cotton shorts to work out in.  So, I slipped them on and began to sweat.

I never wear shorts.  I don't own any shorts of any kind.  I was surprised to find those shorts at the bottom of my chest of drawers.  See, I always like to be covered.  I'm a pant guy.  If I weren't so hot-natured, I'd probably wear long-sleeved shirts all year round as well.  But that's just not feasible as I am the human furnace.  So, it was a strange feeling being bare below the knees.  It was cool and comfortable but still strange.  Foreign.

As I was on the floor stretching, I walked my hands up to my knees and felt my shins as I was trying to get to my toes.  This is going to sound kind of lame but go with me on this.  I felt my shins in a different way than I had before.  Like, really feeling them.  It wasn't like showering with the buffer of a bar of soap or scratching an itch through thick denim or plaid cotton.  It was skin on skin, exploring what my legs felt like without all the other stuff getting in the way.  And I realized that these were my legs.  They felt cool despite the sweat I was working up.  The skin was smooth and pale beneath the abundance of soft dark hair.  My shin bone was rigid like a steel pipe beneath a slippery satin sheet.  My calf muscles were pliable while at rest, hugged by a pad of fat, yet firm when I flexed them.

And I thought to myself, "Damn.  This is my body.  And I don't even really know what it feels like."  And that's when I realized I couldn't even get to my toes because of the enormous layer of fat around my midsection that acted like a pillowy barrier.  I recalled all those years ago when I first started seriously losing weight, how I could reach beyond my toes.  I had become so inflexible and so fat all these years later and I could barely get to my ankle.  And suddenly, everything started clicking.  That was my bulbous stomach.  That was my jiggly thighs, my doughy waist, a roll of fat between my stomach and chest, man breasts, thick arms and back fat.  Hindering my movements.  Hindering my life.

There was only one other time I can remember when I really looked at myself.  Back when I was in college and at a decent weight, yet still thought I was fat, I can remember lying on my back on my bed.  I was preparing for my afternoon nap when I looked down at myself and realized I could not only see my toes but my feet, legs and thighs.  There was no mountain of meat distorting my view.

I lifted up my shirt to my chest and visually explored the landscape of pallid skin.  My hip bones stuck out at each side of my waist and dipped inward, meeting the corners of my belly that sloped upward in a small pad of fat.  Back then, I thought I was fat.  I realize now that I was probably just slightly chubby.  No where near as big as I am now.  I massaged my belly and ran my fingers along the hard bone of my hip.  Deep shadows formed in the concave formation of my hips, shadows that led into my underwear, the elastic waist forming a smooth line from one side of my waist to the other.

Although I thought I was fat, I was becoming aware.  I hadn't quite gotten there but I was close.  So close.  I was beginning to realize I wasn't as big as I thought I was, that the shadows and protruding bones were evident of something my mind wouldn't allow me to understand, wouldn't allow me to believe.

I kept touching, exploring, realizing, becoming aware.  The cool skin of my stomach was interrupted by jagged red lines, stretchmarks that scarred me from my shoulders to my inner thighs.  Yeah, no matter how much weight I lost, they'd always be there.  A reminder of my gluttony.  Another thing to be ashamed of.  And suddenly, the awareness was gone and I was still fat and stretched out and ruined.  I'd never be smooth.  I'd never be flat.  I'd never be good enough.

Just like that, I lost whatever it was I was so close to finding.

And through the years, through the binge eating and consistent weight gain, it was my body going through the changes but I wasn't aware of it, didn't realize how big I was, didn't realize what I felt like.  You'd think because it was my body, I would at least have some kind of awareness about what was going on with it.  But that's how out of touch I was with myself.  I had ignored the problem for so long, choosing not to touch or even look at myself, just masking the problem, literally covering it up with clothing.  If I didn't have to see it, I didn't have to worry about it.

And I wasn't just out of touch with my physical body.  Obviously, I had to be out of touch in other ways to ignore and/or be so unconscious of the changes.

So, how do I fix it?  How do I become in tune with myself, with my mind and my body?  How do I get back inside myself and take an inventory of problems, both physical and mental?  Does it start with a touch?  Does it start with acceptance?  Or does it start with a frustration, an admittance, a confession?

Do you ever look at yourself, really look at yourself?  Do you ever realize that you are in your body?  I know that sounds like an obvious statement but is it, really?  There are times when I look at myself, examine myself and find flaws that fluster me.  But this is my face and this is my body and I have to accept it.  This is the only body I will ever have and this is what I was given to work with and it's scary sometimes.

I always wish I had a different body, different face, different hair and skin and eyes and teeth.  And I can spend so much time wishing for things that I forget that I'll never have them (with the exception of plastic surgery which isn't likely for me).  Like, this is it.  These are my eyes, whether I like it or not.  This is my jawline and my receding hairline and stretch-marked stomach and nipples and penis and fingers and lips and flat butt and freak lump in my throat and this is all that I have.  This is mine, all that I will ever possess, no matter how I like it or don't like it or accept it or don't accept it.  It's still all there, all mine for the taking or for the destroying.

But this is what other people see.  My eyes and jawline and receding hairline, etc., define who I am to others.  They look at me and that is how they identify me.  That's what Brannon looks like.  That is his body.  That is his face.  This is the vessel that I move around in, express myself in, communicate with others in.  And it's surreal to me.  This is it.  It will never get better than this and it hurts because it's not very good to begin with.

But I can take myself out of myself and put my head somewhere else where I don't have to deal.  I can eat away the shame and think about how I could look if I could just get myself together and it's a momentary comfort.  I disconnect again, lie again.  I can separate myself from my body and fantasize, dream, hope, envision something else.

And that will get me by for now.

ana-sthetic

Raising my shirt above my nipples, I inspected my torso in the bathroom lights.  Seeing the swooping shadows slice across my skin always made me smile.  It meant progress.  It meant the fat was melting away and allowing my ribs to show through the pallid skin.

Every morning, after peeing, I'd raise my shirt and check on my shrinking frame.  It felt good to see those ribs.  It didn't feel good to diet or exercise but it was nice when my pants fit, when my chest was flatter, when I could run my hand down my stomach to smooth out my shirt and could feel the cool metal of my belt buckle without the lump of fat resting on top.

It was a struggle to not eat my favorite foods, denying myself sweets, getting up and exercising, waiting, wondering when that promised energy was going to kick in.  It was difficult, frustrating and exhausting.  Yet, the presence of the bones helped me get through another hungry day.  I loved food but I loved the feeling of being thinner as well.  I think, although I love food and thinness equally, I disliked myself, thus the food always won out.  Because I didn't like myself, I didn't take care of myself, didn't discipline myself, let myself go in more ways than just the physical.

One of the reasons I was able to lose weight was because I felt I was doing it for something.  I had a goal, some kind of image in my head of what I wanted to look like and how it would benefit me.  When I was in high school, I always had a fantasy that I would transform myself over the summer and come back and be different, thinner, better.  I didn't want to be known only as the fat could who could draw.  I wanted my peers to see me in a way they hadn't before, see me as someone who was desirable, handsome.  Approachable.  And the summer before my senior year, I did it.  And I was noticed.  And it felt good.  But, I still had a long way to go. 

Community college rolled around and I began to look to the future once more.  I knew where I wanted to pursue further education and I once again went on a diet and exercise kick, losing more weight than I did in high school and becoming the thinnest I had ever been in ten or so years.  I did it because I was preparing myself for real college, preparing myself for people and projects.  I knew college would be such a huge transition filled with enough pressures and I didn't want my physical appearance to be a hindrance to the large amounts of socializing I was planning on doing.

I was thin and felt good by the time I got to SCAD.  I slipped up during the first quarter, falling victim to the clichéd freshmen fifteen but I was back on track after winter break.  I kept myself accountable and started vlogging about my weight loss and checked my ribs every morning in the mirror.  I weighed myself every week.  I went to the gym with my roommates.  I had class and three different projects to work on at any given time so there wasn't much time to eat.  There was even a time when I severely restricted my food intake.  I didn't exactly starve myself but I was pretty close to it.  It didn't disturb me, though, because I felt good at the end of the day.  Yeah, I was hungry and tired but I felt I had finally managed some kind of mental control over myself.

And then I graduated and came back home and let myself go again.  With Mom's Southern cooking and no more classes or a job, I sat at home and managed to undo all the years of hard work, slowly swelling back to my high school hugeness.

Of course, it wasn't apparent to me how large I was getting as I sat around all day in elastic sleep pants.  It only became obvious when I tried to actually go out and do something and put on jeans and couldn't button them.  How could I get so big so fast without even noticing?  I stopped vlogging, stopped weighing, stopped lifting my shirt in front of the mirror.  I lost all accountability.  I also discovered Ben & Jerry's brownie cheesecake ice cream, so that didn't help matters.

I've lost and gained weight so many times now that it all seems like this large smear in my memory.  I can't differentiate days from doughnuts.  And I find myself at the bottom, yet again, looking up that long ladder of weight loss and wondering if I can make that climb one more time.  I'm not sure if I can.

Of course, not having a job wasn't the reason why I gained the weight back.  Well, not directly.  I mean, it was the reason I gained weight but not because I was bored.  It was because I was depressed.  College turned out to be a giant wreck of three years.  And with no job and all that time to reflect on my tumultuous time there, I ate to cope.  Despite all efforts over the years to control my eating habits and exercise regularly, I never learned to eat for nutrition instead of filling a void.  When it came to food, I suppressed the physical act of eating and completely ignored the emotional baggage that made me binge.

And for months now I've been saying I'm going to lose the weight again, that I'm going to go through that arduous weight loss journey once more.  But, I haven't because I know it's hard.  I've been there before and knowing how difficult it is makes it all the harder to get started.  It's difficult to learn how to deal with my feelings through methods other than food.  Nothing I've tried seems as satisfying.  Admittedly, I haven't tried very hard. 

But you know what's not hard?  Pizza, pasta, cookies, sweet stuff.  Cheese.  Bread.  Starches and carbs.  It's comforting.  It's my anesthetic against the everyday external conflicts and incessant internal torture.  And I know it's temporary and ultimately more damaging but sometimes I'm so hurt and angry that I just want to stop the pain in that moment and I don't care how I do it.  Fix it now, figure it out later.  Just stop the pain.  Just get rid of the sadness.  I'll deal with the consequences another time.  But, I don't.  I deal with the consequences with more food.  With inactivity.  With hating myself just a little bit more.  Instead of wanting to put out the pain, I should have just sucked it up and dealt with it.  I guess a little hurt never killed anyone but what if you're already dead?  I think it hits me harder.  I also think I'm incredibly weak and give in to way too much way too soon.

I need something else.  I need someone to care.  I need to care about myself.  I need to know that I am worth working on.  That I am not stuck in mediocrity.  I need to climb out of my festering funk.   It's easy to fall, to let your problems snowball, to just go with gravity.  It's hard to stop mid-fall.  It's as simple as catching yourself but when you don't have any hands or feet you just continue to tumble.

I'd like to one day be able to see my ribs again.  Not break them with bad habits.

Birthday Bulge

"If you don't eat yourself, you will explode instead..."
-Goldfrapp, Eat Yourself

So, yes, my birthday was this past Saturday.  And it sucked.  That's pretty much all there is to it.  I had to work and working in that hellhole always ruins my day.  I'm not going to get into it because it seems like every year I always bemoan my birthday and it's just tired now.  I know I'm slowly (or not so slowly) turning into one of those people who always has to criticize Thanksgivings and Christmases, who has to be a buzz kill and take a steamy dump on everyone's holiday spirit and I don't wanna be that douche.

And the most annoying part?  I had to fight to get some time off to do some kind of holiday shopping.  You'd think, working in retail, that getting my Christmas shopping done wouldn't be a big deal but when you're in that kind of environment all day and you finally get off work, the last thing you want to do is to jump back in that environment in a different location.  So, since my supervisor wouldn't give me my birthday off, I asked for two days during the prior week.  She wouldn't give that to me, either, so I had to give her my pimp hand until she finally relented.

So, after having to claw and scratch to get some time off, I went out of town with my mom to finally get started on my Christmas shopping.  I bought some things for family and bought some stuff for myself as well.  Let me say, it was incredibly depressing trying on clothes.  First of all, those harsh lights are terrible.  I saw every pore, every pimple, every wrinkle all over my face.  I was hideous.  And then, I tried on shirt after shirt, coat after coat, sweater after sweater and none of them fit.

I've gained so much weight since I've graduated.  I've talked about this before but let's rehash it, shall we?  While I've pretty much gained weight everywhere, it has mostly concentrated to my stomach.  So, when I'm trying on these articles of clothing, if I go to an extra large, the shoulder seams hang off my shoulders and the torso pretty much swallows me.  Go to a large (and sometimes medium) and it fits great in the shoulders but it's too tight around my midsection.  So, I can't win.  And my mom doesn't help because she thinks everything should be big and baggy.  She says all my shirts are too short and too tight if they aren't hanging down to my knees so she obviously can't be trusted with fashion advice.

I just wish I could go into a store and be able to pick out anything and leave.  I wish I could be a shirt and jeans guy.  I layer a lot.  It's not because that's how I like to dress.  Imagine being a fatty wearing two to three shirts (and/or a jacket when it's cold) at any given time.  It's not comfortable.  But, I have to so I can cover up all my fat.  Shirts are made so thin these days that if I were to just wear a shirt, the flimsy material would cling to all my fat rolls.  So, I have to layer so try to provide some decent coverage/camouflage.  Plus, I'm hot-natured so all those layers don't help that whole "fat sweaty guy" stereotype.

Everything looks good hanging on the racks but when I put it over my lumpy body, it looks skewed and warped like an acid trip on my body.  And as I slowly button the shirt, once it gets to my belly and the fabric starts to stretch and I have to suck in to button the jeans and my thighs are screaming, I get depressed.  I want to give up on put on some elastic pajama bottoms and call it a day.  And eat a whole pizza.  Which makes me fatter.  And worsens everything.

It's funny because I know how to lose weight.  I've done it off an on my entire teen years and two separate times I lost a major amount of weight.  And yet, here I am, almost as big as I ever was, starting over, back to zero.  And I can do it again but it just sucks because once I lose all this weight, I'll only be getting back to where I was before I started gaining.  It'll be an accomplishment but I just think of how it won't amount to much because I still won't be where I want to be and I'll have to push myself even harder and be even more disciplined to push past my thinnest and get even thinner.

Bottom line is I will probably always struggle.  I will never be satisfied.  I will gain and lose and gain and lose until I die.  I am too vacant inside and so I fill up on food and that will never change until something else comes along and occupies that void.  I just don't know what that thing will be.  I certainly can't imagine anything taking the place of pasta.

Happy birthday, chunky.  Go have another slice of cake to make yourself feel better and deal with it some other day.  For now, let the food soothe you.  You know it's wrong and it's only temporary but when you're in pain, you don't care about the consequences.  You need that reprieve, that quick fix, that numbness.  You require it to make it through the day.  You need it so bad it becomes all you are.

You consume so much until you're the one being consumed. 

You're eating your problems, eating your fears and insecurities, slowly eating yourself into nothing.  Oh, you'll expand all right but you're just withering inside, smothering everything good, thinning up and drying out until you're brittle and break into thousands of shards.  But, it's all you know.  You're comfortable in your gluttony because it works, however temporary.  And what's the alternative?  If you don't bury it down, it'll erupt within you, take over your body and mind and mouth and you'll simply explode all over everyone and bring them down with your anger, fear and hatred.  They'll see you for who you really are.  And you can't have that.  No, not just yet.