I'm Fat, let's talk....

Ok, here is the deal. I need to lose about 65lbs. YEP. 65lbs. It's the truth. Not so I can be a skinny bitch again either. This is just to be normal sized again.

I can go over and over how I got here because I was always on the thin side. truth be told I drank at least 2,000 calories per day. Ate at least 4,000. Being hungover all of the time doesn't allow for much exercise, either.

I did start running about 2 yrs ago. Slimmed down quite a bit. Fast forward to 3 broken ribs and my ability to not move for 2 months and EAT everything...I of course put it right back on.

I weigh more right now than I have... EVER. I have quit drinking. As of recent, I've DRAMATICALLY cut down on ALL dairy, on breads and I hate it.

I LOVE food. Pasta. Pizza. Cheese. Fried anything. Pepsi. YUMMY!

So, I've been half-heartedly "running" again...ya know, like a toddler dragging themselves behind you, you yanking their arm, them screaming and whining... I'm starting back to couch to 5 k(c25k) tomorrow with my new running partner Katie and I'm excited and grateful. And let me tell you why....Last night, I got on the floor(rolled and fell onto) to do crunches. I was fucking OUT OF BREATH...getting on the fucking floor. OUT. OF. BREATH. Then, as I lay there, I felt like my fat was literally strangling me. It had starting trying to EAT ME...That got me scared. I mean, my fucking fat is trying to murder me. After my 100 crunches in 30 minutes I decided I'd had enough of this and SOMETHING drastic MUST be done. So, here is my plan:
Katie and I(or just me if she cannot) are going to go running 4 days a week.
I'm gonna go walking the other 3 days.
I'm doing 100 crunches a day.
RAIN OR SHINE.
 I'm going to fully expect to be called out by you guys and asked if I did my shit, OK?
I'm NOT going to be murdered in my sleep by my fat.

So, Let's do this...let's battle this bulge. Next time you see me, I'll be the Biggest Loser;)

faking it....

No, I'm not talking about an orgasm. I'm talking about my life.

You see, I'm newly sober, newly unemployed, very broke ass, 1/4 tank of gas, blah, blah, blah....I'm tired of hearing me say it. It feels like I'm just making excuses. I know I'm not, I know that when I cannot sleep, I am filling out apps at 4am. I am cleaning and doing laundry, faking my every anxiety ridden, prozac missing, movement through each day.

Okay, so, I live with my ex-husband. The deal when I moved in with the kids was I'd pay rent and cable and buy groceries. I'm NOT blaming him for my financial state. Although that would be easy. I am taking responsibility for my actions here. I fucked up MY shit. So, moving on. I cannot help but get pissed off when me and the kids are getting a box of food from a stranger and he is happily purchasing a new pool table and pool lamp. With MY rent money. I know...I get it. I agreed to the terms.

The looks I get when he sees me "just" sitting at 9am. He just woke up. I've been awake and had an entire day by that time. He shakes his head at me in disappointment, about my bills. About my lack of job. It's SO frustrating. I can feel the disgust he feels with me.

You see, I never learned how to do my finances. I know that sounds weak and excuse-y, but it's true. I am so ashamed by this I cannot ask for help. I do not know who to go to for help and it seems pointless knowing I'm near financial ruin. What's the point anymore?

You guys, I just feel broken. Broken and scared.

So, I keep faking a smile while I sob.....and just pray.

I am grateful. Or faking it when I need to.

That moment you are crying, sneeze and pee yourself....

Yes, ladies, you know what I speak of here. If you've had kids, sometimes, no matter how many kegels you can do, the region has been blown.

 I myself was once 120lb, tiny framed woman. I married a 6'6" monstrosity and consequently gave birth to one 8lb 11oz 21 inch baby and then, 21 months later, I had a 10lb, 2 oz, 24 inch baby.

  I should've taken my Irish grandmother's advice and smoke and drank while pregnant....she swore it would help;) But that's neither here nor there....I didn't smoke or drink and I'm pretty sure I just would've had fucked up giant babies instead of just giant babies. (if you cannot see the humor in that, please unlike me now)
Yes, they were vaginal...NOW you are getting it.

My poor sister recently had her first baby, I'm not going into details of her situation but let's suffice it to say that she has sworn off all sex and reproduction. I know my sister. She means it.

The woman who just had a 14 pounder, vaginally, no drugs...Nothing is ever going to be the same there. EVER.

When I run, sneeze, cough, bounce, walk, laugh, cry, get up too fast, fall, etc...I leak. It's not attractive, it's humiliating sometimes. I'm 37. THIRTY SEVEN...I'd like to NOT have to wear a pad every damn day for fear I'll piss myself. I'd like to NOT have to stop, cross legs, and stand still for 5 minutes in the "sneeze stance" for fear I'll overflow out of the pad....
When I've  got my period....well, can you imagine the fucking nightmare that I face?

Yet, we as mother's face this every day, grateful for the little bastards. When my daughter's laugh because I pee myself, or my hair is fucked up, or my underwear has holes, or because I have target bras instead of Victoria's secret....I think to myself  'kid, give it a few years...when your vag is swelled up and nipples are cracked and bloody, when you are unsure of the last day you showered or got a haircut, when you can literally not recall buying a razor or NOT wearing pj bottoms as real pants....I'll be in Hawaii, on the beach, in a swimsuit, fresh, clean, shaven, and getting laid in my Victoria's secret lingerie'

BIG HUG kiddies!