Again, it's been a while. I often want to write in here, but life just keeps getting away with me. We are SO busy and I wasn't expecting that. My girls are involved in after school activities (and I am happy about that), but it just takes up so much time.
I'm glad I am able to do these things for them and that their Grammy has helped provide these opportunities. We are so very, very appreciative.
But, anyway...
***
The weight loss thing is amazing. I was having a really tough time getting over a hump, but then I did, and now I am officially down 100 pounds! It was so, so hard, and I worry about both keeping it off AND continuing to lose. I know I can do it. I mean, I have done so much already. I'm just stressed at the thought of making sure I keep my shit together.
I think I am going to go back to hardcore low carb high fat. That's what gave me the kick start in the beginning and got the first 65 pounds off. Once I went to counting calories and adding in more carbs, the loss slowed down and was so much more difficult. I'd like to do lchf for a few months and then go back to 1700 calories a day and 90 grams of carbs. It's tough that way, but it helps to keep me on track.
***
Weight loss has been strange for me. I am so, so, so happy and so, so, so proud, but there are underlying things that I wasn't fully prepared for.
I have been fat my entire life. Being fat isn't just a size thing. After a while, it becomes your identity. Much like being depressed and bipolar and having anxiety and OCD became my identity, being the fat friend had become the same.
Taking my meds regularly and working on cognitive behavioral exercises helped my mental health issues tremendously. Becoming healthier mentally fucked with my head, though. I started to MISS being so depressed and almost wanted to get back to the "safe" place of being there. It's easy to be depressed and anxious, because it just IS. Working your way out of it is the hard part. It takes so much work, so much medication, and so much help from others. It's so hard and so frustrating and so INVOLVED. I kind of started feeling depressed because I wasn't AS DEPRESSED as I had been.
If you think that sounds fucked up to YOU, imagine what is going through my head. I often consider not taking my meds because I miss ME and feel like I am living in a new skin.
Which brings me to the weight loss thing.
100 pounds is a lot, guys. It's a lot of weight and a lot of space and a lot of mental pressure taken off of my shoulders. It scares me a lot. It makes me uncomfortable sometimes. It confuses me and worries me and makes me wonder who I am now.
I am still fat, don't get me wrong, but it is often hard for me to look at myself and see that I have actually lost weight. I don't know what size clothing I wear, anymore. I will buy something, realize it's too big, and cry because I don't know what to do.
I actually have to sit myself down and talk myself through it. It sounds like a good problem to have, I imagine.
It's very stressful for me, though. I don't know who I am or how I fit into the world right now.
***
I love who I am becoming, though. I love being happier and being able to do so much more with my girls. I love buying new clothes and fitting in new places. I love sometimes waking up one day and realizing what I can do that I NEVER realized I couldn't do before.
Moving my seat in the car. Adjusting the steering wheel. Putting the seatbelt on one-handed. Walking up the stairs. Walking down the stairs without holding on or going step-by-step.
There are things that were so hard for me before, yet I DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE IT. I didn't know how much I was being held back, because I had spent so much time trying to show everyone that I could DO ALL THE THINGS.
***
I could spend hours telling you how my life has changed. How I feel younger and more free and healthier in so many ways. I could tell you how bending over to tie my shoe feels like a new lease on life. I could point out that I don't need to hold onto my knees everywhere I go and that wearing fitted clothing actually makes me feel THINNER.
How being able to put on fashionable clothes for the first time in over 20 years gives me so much excitement that I almost can't stop buying things.
I feel half my age and sometimes feel myself acting that way.
***
When you have spent your entire adult life being someone who can't fully BE and then you become someone who CAN, it's truly a rebirth and I am going through an adolescence of sorts.
I'm kind of enjoying the ride, and kind of afraid of it, too.
***
My children are so, so proud of me, and THAT is the biggest win of them all. Hearing them cheer me on and help me work towards my goal is what it's all about. They are why I am doing this. They are why I take the time to shut the fuck up and move the fuck on.
They are my heroes in tiny, little half shells.
They are my reason.
They are what keeps me going, even when I am too tired to take another step.
They - simply - are.
Friday, November 11, 2016
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
The way you make me feel.
I worry sometimes that this blog may come across as a pseudo self-help book. That's not the look I'm going for. I just like to share what has helped me and made me feel better. It works for me, and I always hope it works for someone else, but it's not advice. It's just the way I'm feeling at any given moment.
That being said, I did want to talk about feelings and how they affect my attitudes. Not necessarily "good" or "bad" feelings. Just feelings in general.
***
I've always been a pretty private person with my feelings. It seems as if I am open and out there and willing to share anything, but those are superficial (to me) things. I mean, the stray hair on my cheek? Not a big deal. Telling someone I really like them and want to be their friend? Totally uncomfortable and possibly rejection-worthy.
I spent a good deal of my life avoiding sharing how I felt. If I was angry, I often held it back. If I was starting to feel close to someone, I didn't want to tell them. I didn't want to share how I felt most of the time because I was afraid it would make someone angry, or make them hate me, or make them want to leave.
I was afraid of rejection in all of its forms.
Moving to Cincinnati after spending the entirety of my life thus far ON THE SAME BLOCK was difficult. I had to give up everything that was familiar to me. I had to leave my friends and family and home and everything that I loved. I had to start again.
Starting again is so, so hard.
***
The worst part about moving here is that no one knew me. No one could see what I was doing and say, "Oh, that's just Adrienne." No one could look at my face and know I was sad or happy or angry. No one could see me for who I was.
I cried so much all the time. I had Mike and Abbie and the new baby growing in my tummy, but I didn't have anyone that was MINE. I didn't have the people who were familiar to me. I didn't have the closeness that years of KNOWING could bring about.
So, I shut myself down. I didn't share everything that I was feeling. I not only tried to hide my sadness, but I also hid my HAPPINESS. I didn't want to show any of that in case I was rejected. In my mind, showing my feelings was giving someone power over me. Power to give or take love as they wanted. I wasn't able to be in control of what I felt. I couldn't do that.
***
Anyway. That went on for years and it got worse and worse and it ended up that the only feeling I let show was anger. Only anger really comes from so many of things. Anger comes from frustration and sadness and loneliness and WANT. Anger comes from this huge part inside of us that really only wants to be loved. Anger wants to be accepted.
You know, feeling that way doesn't help anyone. It doesn't make anyone want to be near you. It doesn't make you feel good. It doesn't make you happy. It does all of the things you DON'T want it to do. You're alone, without love, feeling miserable, and going nowhere. Instead of being in control, you've given anger all of the control over you.
***
About that time, I started thinking long and hard about my health. While I wasn't ill or having any sort of health crisis, I knew I was heading there quickly. The path I was on was unhealthy both physically AND mentally. I was making myself sicker and sicker INSIDE, and that was bound to start showing on the OUTSIDE.
***
I've been battling depression since the mid-nineties. I've been medicated since 1999. I've seen psychologists, and therapists, and psychiatrists. I've taken multiple meds. I've tried yoga. I've lost weight (and gained it back). I got married. I got divorced. I got pets. I didn't drink or smoke or do drugs.
Finally, I had babies.
And you know what? Still a miserable fuck. So miserable, in fact, that I wound up pretty low and in places in which I never thought I'd be. I was so, so, so unhappy.
While I wasn't diagnosed as bipolar until 2009, and it totally explained so many of my actions in the late '90s - early '00s, I won't use that as an excuse. It may explain many things, but it can't excuse them. It kind of just IS.
***
And then something amazing happened in the end of 2014. I started not giving a shit. I mean, for REAL not giving a shit. I started to be ok with the possibility of rejection. I started being ok with people possibly being angry with me. I started being ok with putting it all out there.
And for real, you guys. It changed my life.
***
When I was 25, I asked my mother to come to my house one day after work. I sat her down and told her I forgave her. My mom is an amazing mom, and I would be nothing were it not for her. However, like we all do, she made some mistakes raising me and my sister. It is what it is, and I got over it. I told her I forgave her. More importantly, I DID forgive her. It's easy to make excuses for yourself and say, "Well, I didn't know any better." We should give the same thing to other people. We should say, "They didn't know better. Now they do and now they are doing better."
I forgave my mother, but I did so much more for myself. I opened up this horrible, closed up part of myself. I let go of so much hurt and anger and became a more forgiving person in general. Forgiveness helped ME. Forgiveness made ME happier. Forgiveness gave me a second chance.
After all, if my mother could forgive all of the shit I gave her (and still do), I could forgive her for whatever I felt she did wrong.
***
Along that same vein, letting my feelings show and being honest with people and letting myself be vulnerable changed my life yet again. Instead of bottling things up until they erupted, I let them out little by little, and found a whole new world of happiness.
I started opening myself up to people here. I started joining in and trying to become a part of things. I let myself go out there and feel my way around. No pun intended.
And it didn't always work. And sometimes I did get rejected or hurt or upset. Only now I was better at that. I was in no way ok with being hurt, but I was ok with getting over it. I was ok with letting the feelings be and feeling them deeply and then getting over them. It's hard, you guys. I do not think it's simple and I do not think anyone can just wake up one morning and be like I AM DONE AND GOING TO BE HAPPY AND WILL JUST DO WHAT I FEEL AND IT WILL BE RAINBOWS.
I still battle depression. I am still bipolar. I still fight with OCD and anxiety and just plain social awkwardness.
I still take my meds religiously every day. I still write things down. I still cry and feel sad and hurt and rejected and ANGRY.
But being able to allow myself those feelings is amazing. Being able to FEEL without trying to stifle it has been one of the best things I've ever done. Being able to say, "OK. You don't like me. That feels bad, but it won't kill me," has been freeing.
Because, you see, I don't like everyone, either. I may not even like YOU. ;)
***
It may have a lot to do with getting older. It may have to do with losing weight and feeling more in control of myself because of that. I don't know.
What I DO know is that I now have friends here. I now feel as if this is my own. I now feel PART OF something.
I now feel happy. For the most part. When I am not sad. Or angry. Or depressed.
I now FEEL.
And that? Is the best feeling of all.
That being said, I did want to talk about feelings and how they affect my attitudes. Not necessarily "good" or "bad" feelings. Just feelings in general.
***
I've always been a pretty private person with my feelings. It seems as if I am open and out there and willing to share anything, but those are superficial (to me) things. I mean, the stray hair on my cheek? Not a big deal. Telling someone I really like them and want to be their friend? Totally uncomfortable and possibly rejection-worthy.
I spent a good deal of my life avoiding sharing how I felt. If I was angry, I often held it back. If I was starting to feel close to someone, I didn't want to tell them. I didn't want to share how I felt most of the time because I was afraid it would make someone angry, or make them hate me, or make them want to leave.
I was afraid of rejection in all of its forms.
Moving to Cincinnati after spending the entirety of my life thus far ON THE SAME BLOCK was difficult. I had to give up everything that was familiar to me. I had to leave my friends and family and home and everything that I loved. I had to start again.
Starting again is so, so hard.
***
The worst part about moving here is that no one knew me. No one could see what I was doing and say, "Oh, that's just Adrienne." No one could look at my face and know I was sad or happy or angry. No one could see me for who I was.
I cried so much all the time. I had Mike and Abbie and the new baby growing in my tummy, but I didn't have anyone that was MINE. I didn't have the people who were familiar to me. I didn't have the closeness that years of KNOWING could bring about.
So, I shut myself down. I didn't share everything that I was feeling. I not only tried to hide my sadness, but I also hid my HAPPINESS. I didn't want to show any of that in case I was rejected. In my mind, showing my feelings was giving someone power over me. Power to give or take love as they wanted. I wasn't able to be in control of what I felt. I couldn't do that.
***
Anyway. That went on for years and it got worse and worse and it ended up that the only feeling I let show was anger. Only anger really comes from so many of things. Anger comes from frustration and sadness and loneliness and WANT. Anger comes from this huge part inside of us that really only wants to be loved. Anger wants to be accepted.
You know, feeling that way doesn't help anyone. It doesn't make anyone want to be near you. It doesn't make you feel good. It doesn't make you happy. It does all of the things you DON'T want it to do. You're alone, without love, feeling miserable, and going nowhere. Instead of being in control, you've given anger all of the control over you.
***
About that time, I started thinking long and hard about my health. While I wasn't ill or having any sort of health crisis, I knew I was heading there quickly. The path I was on was unhealthy both physically AND mentally. I was making myself sicker and sicker INSIDE, and that was bound to start showing on the OUTSIDE.
***
I've been battling depression since the mid-nineties. I've been medicated since 1999. I've seen psychologists, and therapists, and psychiatrists. I've taken multiple meds. I've tried yoga. I've lost weight (and gained it back). I got married. I got divorced. I got pets. I didn't drink or smoke or do drugs.
Finally, I had babies.
And you know what? Still a miserable fuck. So miserable, in fact, that I wound up pretty low and in places in which I never thought I'd be. I was so, so, so unhappy.
While I wasn't diagnosed as bipolar until 2009, and it totally explained so many of my actions in the late '90s - early '00s, I won't use that as an excuse. It may explain many things, but it can't excuse them. It kind of just IS.
***
And then something amazing happened in the end of 2014. I started not giving a shit. I mean, for REAL not giving a shit. I started to be ok with the possibility of rejection. I started being ok with people possibly being angry with me. I started being ok with putting it all out there.
And for real, you guys. It changed my life.
***
When I was 25, I asked my mother to come to my house one day after work. I sat her down and told her I forgave her. My mom is an amazing mom, and I would be nothing were it not for her. However, like we all do, she made some mistakes raising me and my sister. It is what it is, and I got over it. I told her I forgave her. More importantly, I DID forgive her. It's easy to make excuses for yourself and say, "Well, I didn't know any better." We should give the same thing to other people. We should say, "They didn't know better. Now they do and now they are doing better."
I forgave my mother, but I did so much more for myself. I opened up this horrible, closed up part of myself. I let go of so much hurt and anger and became a more forgiving person in general. Forgiveness helped ME. Forgiveness made ME happier. Forgiveness gave me a second chance.
After all, if my mother could forgive all of the shit I gave her (and still do), I could forgive her for whatever I felt she did wrong.
***
Along that same vein, letting my feelings show and being honest with people and letting myself be vulnerable changed my life yet again. Instead of bottling things up until they erupted, I let them out little by little, and found a whole new world of happiness.
I started opening myself up to people here. I started joining in and trying to become a part of things. I let myself go out there and feel my way around. No pun intended.
And it didn't always work. And sometimes I did get rejected or hurt or upset. Only now I was better at that. I was in no way ok with being hurt, but I was ok with getting over it. I was ok with letting the feelings be and feeling them deeply and then getting over them. It's hard, you guys. I do not think it's simple and I do not think anyone can just wake up one morning and be like I AM DONE AND GOING TO BE HAPPY AND WILL JUST DO WHAT I FEEL AND IT WILL BE RAINBOWS.
I still battle depression. I am still bipolar. I still fight with OCD and anxiety and just plain social awkwardness.
I still take my meds religiously every day. I still write things down. I still cry and feel sad and hurt and rejected and ANGRY.
But being able to allow myself those feelings is amazing. Being able to FEEL without trying to stifle it has been one of the best things I've ever done. Being able to say, "OK. You don't like me. That feels bad, but it won't kill me," has been freeing.
Because, you see, I don't like everyone, either. I may not even like YOU. ;)
***
It may have a lot to do with getting older. It may have to do with losing weight and feeling more in control of myself because of that. I don't know.
What I DO know is that I now have friends here. I now feel as if this is my own. I now feel PART OF something.
I now feel happy. For the most part. When I am not sad. Or angry. Or depressed.
I now FEEL.
And that? Is the best feeling of all.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Roller Coaster
Yikes!
I knew I hadn't written in here for a while, but I never imagined it had been over a month! I somehow thought I would have more time once the kids went back to school. I was clearly high. Between being a taxi driver, after school activities, stupid errands, and school itself, we seem to have very little time for fun.
I do, however, have time to nap. Priorities!
***
The past few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster. It's always ups and downs with me, but I usually go through a week or more of each emotions. A week of happy. Two weeks of sad. A week of angry. You get the picture. We've been dealing with a day or two of misery or happiness or anger and it's been taking its toll on me.
My eating habits have been shit. I tell myself that it's ok because I'm not gaining anything, but it's so much more than that. When I eat like shit, I feel like shit. I can't seem to get control of my diet when I can't even control my feelings. So frustrating!
I am taking advantage of the "nothing" by getting my food sitch under control. The nothing is when I am not angry, sad, manic, or happy. I just am. I've been able to force myself to eat well, which is kind of easy when you don't feel like eating, anyway. The nothing sounds like a good thing, but it sometimes winds up making me sad, anyway.
I love being bipolar!
*Side note (and Mike hates this): I HATE when people go, "OMG, I am feeling bipolar today," or, "She's acting so bipolar."
No. You have no idea.
K, carrying on...
***
I've been wanting to write about a few different topics and just haven't had the energy to do so. I'm hoping that I will get to one of them this week. I enjoy writing and it's a great outlet for me.
Anyway, done for now. Let's not get too carried away! ;)
I knew I hadn't written in here for a while, but I never imagined it had been over a month! I somehow thought I would have more time once the kids went back to school. I was clearly high. Between being a taxi driver, after school activities, stupid errands, and school itself, we seem to have very little time for fun.
I do, however, have time to nap. Priorities!
***
The past few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster. It's always ups and downs with me, but I usually go through a week or more of each emotions. A week of happy. Two weeks of sad. A week of angry. You get the picture. We've been dealing with a day or two of misery or happiness or anger and it's been taking its toll on me.
My eating habits have been shit. I tell myself that it's ok because I'm not gaining anything, but it's so much more than that. When I eat like shit, I feel like shit. I can't seem to get control of my diet when I can't even control my feelings. So frustrating!
I am taking advantage of the "nothing" by getting my food sitch under control. The nothing is when I am not angry, sad, manic, or happy. I just am. I've been able to force myself to eat well, which is kind of easy when you don't feel like eating, anyway. The nothing sounds like a good thing, but it sometimes winds up making me sad, anyway.
I love being bipolar!
*Side note (and Mike hates this): I HATE when people go, "OMG, I am feeling bipolar today," or, "She's acting so bipolar."
No. You have no idea.
K, carrying on...
***
I've been wanting to write about a few different topics and just haven't had the energy to do so. I'm hoping that I will get to one of them this week. I enjoy writing and it's a great outlet for me.
Anyway, done for now. Let's not get too carried away! ;)
Saturday, August 13, 2016
New York Part 2!
Faithful readers, I have not forgotten about you! I'm just lazy and busy and mostly lazy. I am also shit at responding to emails, text messages, and private messages, so don't feel so bad!
Now, onto some excitement!
***
While in NY, my sister had a BBQ and invited some friends and family. I also invited my friend, Danielle. Danielle and I met when we were 13 years old and have been friends ever since. Except when she ignored me. Or vice versa. I am never sure, so I will assume it was her. AS SHOULD YOU ALL.
That's all irrelevant, though, because she is still my oldest friend and will be so for the rest of our lives.
Danielle brought her two daughters with her. It was so nice to see them all. Danielle's older daughter is 13, which is funny, because she and I were clearly adults at 13 and her daughter is clearly not, so lol to us. :( We thought we were hot shit. Hahahaha! Oh dear. What we think as children is only there to amuse us as adults.
This is me and Danielle, looking every bit as old as we did when we met!
And here we are with my mom (I am the fat one):
I won't post pictures of the girls because that is fucked up without their permission, but I assure you that they are beautiful!
It was so nice to see Danielle and we cried and cried because we are losers. We laughed and talked about people and it was such fun to pretend to be teenagers again. Even though I do it every day. It was nice to have an accomplice, though. ;)
Also, that thing on my ankle is a bug thing, not my pathetic attempt at a fancy ankle bracelet.
***
We did more fun stuff and then it was time to go home!
On the way home, we stopped at my OTHER old friend's house. Nicole and I met in high school when she desperately begged me to be her friend until I capitulated and befriended her to keep her quiet. Or something like that. We haven't see in each in over 20 years! So crazy!
She and her family live near Rockaway Beach and it's really a cute little place.
I got to meet her baby daddy and her sweet daughter, Gracie, who I am sure thought I was the best thing ever. She touched me twice. On my knee. Clearly a cry for help. I will kidnap her next time. She is too cute not to!
We didn't get to spend a lot of time there, and we didn't take any pictures (and missed a sweet moment between Gracie and Emilie, about which I will always be sad). We talked and talked and laughed and laughed and it was legit as if we had seen each other the day before. I am so glad we stopped there.
***
After we left Nicole's house, the girls wanted to see the ocean, so we searched for a parking spot (this is a difficult task, non-New Yorkers). We found one, hooray!
We walked there and I cried as soon as I saw the water, as I haven't seen the ocean in over ten years and it was just. so. beautiful. It was incredibly hot that day, but I didn't even notice it. The beach was super crowded, and I didn't even care.
All of those things that would normally create panic in me just didn't exist. It sounds super lame, I know, but all I could see was the water.
We waded in wearing our clothes and my daughters got soaked and all three of us got covered in sand and it was seriously one of the best moments of my life. The girls laughed and splashed and screamed and I taught them to jump over the waves like I did when I was a child. They loved it and Emilie kept telling me, "Mama, I LOVE the ocean!!!" I was so happy that they finally got to see something from MY childhood. They are so used to seeing the things Daddy did or Daddy saw or Daddy knew, and this was something all me. I was proud and excited and so, so in love.
And then we left and saw this and I pulled over and we took a picture:
***
Then I took the girls (and Mike) to see my old High School and the house in which I grew up and it was bittersweet. It was sweet because it was good to see it, but it was bitter because it was SO long ago and I never get to see those things and I am a whiney brat.
Then we stopped at my favorite pizza place of all time and it had new owners and it was late and they had crap pizza left and it was so, so, so disappointing and I almost cried. But, anyway.
***
Then we went home and took two days to get there. We stopped at the Crayola Experience in Pennsylvania, but it is truly not even worth mentioning because none of us really liked it, but I got chocolate covered Swedish fish and that was the bee's knees.
***
And that is what I did on my summer vacation. :)
Now, onto some excitement!
***
While in NY, my sister had a BBQ and invited some friends and family. I also invited my friend, Danielle. Danielle and I met when we were 13 years old and have been friends ever since. Except when she ignored me. Or vice versa. I am never sure, so I will assume it was her. AS SHOULD YOU ALL.
That's all irrelevant, though, because she is still my oldest friend and will be so for the rest of our lives.
Danielle brought her two daughters with her. It was so nice to see them all. Danielle's older daughter is 13, which is funny, because she and I were clearly adults at 13 and her daughter is clearly not, so lol to us. :( We thought we were hot shit. Hahahaha! Oh dear. What we think as children is only there to amuse us as adults.
This is me and Danielle, looking every bit as old as we did when we met!
And here we are with my mom (I am the fat one):
I won't post pictures of the girls because that is fucked up without their permission, but I assure you that they are beautiful!
It was so nice to see Danielle and we cried and cried because we are losers. We laughed and talked about people and it was such fun to pretend to be teenagers again. Even though I do it every day. It was nice to have an accomplice, though. ;)
Also, that thing on my ankle is a bug thing, not my pathetic attempt at a fancy ankle bracelet.
***
We did more fun stuff and then it was time to go home!
On the way home, we stopped at my OTHER old friend's house. Nicole and I met in high school when she desperately begged me to be her friend until I capitulated and befriended her to keep her quiet. Or something like that. We haven't see in each in over 20 years! So crazy!
She and her family live near Rockaway Beach and it's really a cute little place.
I got to meet her baby daddy and her sweet daughter, Gracie, who I am sure thought I was the best thing ever. She touched me twice. On my knee. Clearly a cry for help. I will kidnap her next time. She is too cute not to!
We didn't get to spend a lot of time there, and we didn't take any pictures (and missed a sweet moment between Gracie and Emilie, about which I will always be sad). We talked and talked and laughed and laughed and it was legit as if we had seen each other the day before. I am so glad we stopped there.
***
After we left Nicole's house, the girls wanted to see the ocean, so we searched for a parking spot (this is a difficult task, non-New Yorkers). We found one, hooray!
We walked there and I cried as soon as I saw the water, as I haven't seen the ocean in over ten years and it was just. so. beautiful. It was incredibly hot that day, but I didn't even notice it. The beach was super crowded, and I didn't even care.
All of those things that would normally create panic in me just didn't exist. It sounds super lame, I know, but all I could see was the water.
We waded in wearing our clothes and my daughters got soaked and all three of us got covered in sand and it was seriously one of the best moments of my life. The girls laughed and splashed and screamed and I taught them to jump over the waves like I did when I was a child. They loved it and Emilie kept telling me, "Mama, I LOVE the ocean!!!" I was so happy that they finally got to see something from MY childhood. They are so used to seeing the things Daddy did or Daddy saw or Daddy knew, and this was something all me. I was proud and excited and so, so in love.
And then we left and saw this and I pulled over and we took a picture:
Then I took the girls (and Mike) to see my old High School and the house in which I grew up and it was bittersweet. It was sweet because it was good to see it, but it was bitter because it was SO long ago and I never get to see those things and I am a whiney brat.
Then we stopped at my favorite pizza place of all time and it had new owners and it was late and they had crap pizza left and it was so, so, so disappointing and I almost cried. But, anyway.
***
Then we went home and took two days to get there. We stopped at the Crayola Experience in Pennsylvania, but it is truly not even worth mentioning because none of us really liked it, but I got chocolate covered Swedish fish and that was the bee's knees.
***
And that is what I did on my summer vacation. :)
Friday, August 5, 2016
Keep on keeping on.
I'm writing this so that people can see that sometimes it's hard and that I don't always have my shit together and I am human. No bragging. I DO work hard, but sometimes I have hiccups.
***
So, NY was great and I will write more about it later, but it was bad food-wise. I went into this whole vacation telling myself that I would eat what I wanted to and I wouldn't feel bad about it. I really clamped down on eating well before we left so that, even if I DID gain weight while there, it would be ok.
Only, it was bad.
I ate a LOT more than I thought I would and I fear even knowing what I did to my blood sugar. I guess I worried about that, only I didn't, because I still ate shit.
And, you guys, I gained NINE pounds. In one week! Who does that?
Me.
***
And it was ok, I told myself. And it has been. I lost those nine pounds since I've been home.
But? It has been so hard and I have been crying a lot. It seems that, since I've been home, it's been harder than ever before. Maybe I am just sad because it was SO GOOD eating all of those things I hadn't eaten in a while. And it WAS. I mean, seriously? It was awesome. I love food. A lot. And Red Lobster? Holy shit, it was delicious. I disgusted myself a little but, but it was worth it, not gonna lie.
So. It's been hard keeping my shit together since I've been home. And the other day, it was just almost impossible. I know it's easy to say, "Just don't eat it. Just stick to your diet. It's worth it in the end!" And it certainly IS worth it. Aside from having my girls, there has been nothing so satisfying, nothing that has made me so proud of myself, nothing that has given me so much confidence, as losing this weight and knowing that I did it on my own.
***
Only, sometimes you have a buy one get one free coupon for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese from McDonald's. And sometimes you use that coupon telling yourself, "I'll eat one now and save the other for another day. I mean, I can fit that into my eating plan. No big deal."
Only, then you eat it. And then you eat the other one. And then you eat some fries.
And then you want to cry and vomit it all up, because you are so disappointed in yourself and in your self-control and in the fact that you just ate A HALF A POUND OF SHIT.
But you don't.
You get yourself over the hump. You get your shit back together. You tell yourself it's ok. It's not that you deserve it (because you don't), but it's ok because it's over and you can start again.
***
We can ALWAYS start again, you guys. It's what we do best. It's accepting you fucked up and moving on.
And that is NOT EASY. And it doesn't make you weak or a fuckup or a loser who can't do anything right. It makes you human.
I'm still having a hard time keeping it together. I know I just need to get through the next few weeks because it IS starting over in a way. It seems almost insurmountable. It seems hopeless and scary and so fucking SAD. I am so angry that I have to watch every single thing that I put in my mouth.
But I will. I'll do it. I HAVE done it. It's going to be ok.
***
But you guys? Those Quarter Pounders were SO GOOD.
***
***
So, NY was great and I will write more about it later, but it was bad food-wise. I went into this whole vacation telling myself that I would eat what I wanted to and I wouldn't feel bad about it. I really clamped down on eating well before we left so that, even if I DID gain weight while there, it would be ok.
Only, it was bad.
I ate a LOT more than I thought I would and I fear even knowing what I did to my blood sugar. I guess I worried about that, only I didn't, because I still ate shit.
And, you guys, I gained NINE pounds. In one week! Who does that?
Me.
***
And it was ok, I told myself. And it has been. I lost those nine pounds since I've been home.
But? It has been so hard and I have been crying a lot. It seems that, since I've been home, it's been harder than ever before. Maybe I am just sad because it was SO GOOD eating all of those things I hadn't eaten in a while. And it WAS. I mean, seriously? It was awesome. I love food. A lot. And Red Lobster? Holy shit, it was delicious. I disgusted myself a little but, but it was worth it, not gonna lie.
So. It's been hard keeping my shit together since I've been home. And the other day, it was just almost impossible. I know it's easy to say, "Just don't eat it. Just stick to your diet. It's worth it in the end!" And it certainly IS worth it. Aside from having my girls, there has been nothing so satisfying, nothing that has made me so proud of myself, nothing that has given me so much confidence, as losing this weight and knowing that I did it on my own.
***
Only, sometimes you have a buy one get one free coupon for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese from McDonald's. And sometimes you use that coupon telling yourself, "I'll eat one now and save the other for another day. I mean, I can fit that into my eating plan. No big deal."
Only, then you eat it. And then you eat the other one. And then you eat some fries.
And then you want to cry and vomit it all up, because you are so disappointed in yourself and in your self-control and in the fact that you just ate A HALF A POUND OF SHIT.
But you don't.
You get yourself over the hump. You get your shit back together. You tell yourself it's ok. It's not that you deserve it (because you don't), but it's ok because it's over and you can start again.
***
We can ALWAYS start again, you guys. It's what we do best. It's accepting you fucked up and moving on.
And that is NOT EASY. And it doesn't make you weak or a fuckup or a loser who can't do anything right. It makes you human.
I'm still having a hard time keeping it together. I know I just need to get through the next few weeks because it IS starting over in a way. It seems almost insurmountable. It seems hopeless and scary and so fucking SAD. I am so angry that I have to watch every single thing that I put in my mouth.
But I will. I'll do it. I HAVE done it. It's going to be ok.
***
But you guys? Those Quarter Pounders were SO GOOD.
***
Saturday, July 30, 2016
What I did on my summer vacation - Part 1
I'm tired, so I'm assuming I will only be able to post some of our vacation tonight. Also, lazy.
***
So! My mother and sister live in a galaxy far, far away. That galaxy is called "New York". I - on the other hand - live in a black hole called "Cincinnati". Oh, lol. Chill, midwesterners. It's a joke.
Only, not really.
They usually visit us here once a year except for the rare occasions that we go there. This year was our turn to travel. Traveling with twoannoying charming kids and their high maintenance dad is too stressful to do every year, so I need to be cut some slack. Also, we drive. And by 'we drive,' I mean, 'I drive.' I am not sure how the periods and quotation marks and shit work there, and I just took Klonopin, so just go with it, English nerds.
But, I digress!
Mike doesn't drive. I do. Mike won't fly. If I want him to come with us, I have to drive to NY. It's not horrible, I don't think. My kids can just be annoying and I have literally no patience and also, I have a hard time driving for extended periods of time without being in pain or wanting to kill someone. Mostly, someone INSIDE the vehicle.
So we decided to take two days to drive there and kind of relax and take our time. I think that I am incapable of fully relaxing, though, because that never happened.
***
What DID happen is that we met up with my friend Lexie and her sons, Max and Isaac, on the way there. We met up for lunch and all four kids were pretty mute (which was kind of cool and I am considering taking them with us everywhere so that my children never speak!). We got to talk, though, and that was lovely. Lexie is a mom who also had her first child in April 2007 like I did. We belonged to an online parenting board for hot moms delivering in April 2007 and have been friends ever since. We've never met in person, though, so this was awesome. I love her. She is the best.
There are a LOT of women from this board with whom I have amazing friendships. This is just about LEXIE, though, so relax, ladies.
And then we were on our way again!
***
I won't go into the whole drive because boring, but we drove and then we slept somewhere and then we drove again and got to NY!
We stayed at a hotel on Long Island not too far from my sister's house and we spent the week with them.
The end.
Just kidding. I mean, we DID stay there and it WAS near my sister's house, but I willbore you with tell you lots of things we did!
***
Grammy spoil us. She always says it's because she never gets to see us, but I think she would do it even if she saw us all the time. She likes to see us happy. We would be happy just being with her withOUT doing things, but she still likes to DO things with us. We love it, too. The kids may love it a little bit more than I do because I am lazy, but I DO love it.
Grammy and Resa (what the girls call my sister, Teresa) made yummy food for us and took us to lots of fun places. We got to go to a children's museum, a trampoline place, a petting farm, a ceramic painting place, and Dave and Buster's. We also went to Red Lobster and the Dollar Tree. Those were my favorites. I enjoy food and cheap things.
***
And that is all for Part 1. Tune in tomorrow (although, it won't be tomorrow) for the exciting conclusion!
***
***
So! My mother and sister live in a galaxy far, far away. That galaxy is called "New York". I - on the other hand - live in a black hole called "Cincinnati". Oh, lol. Chill, midwesterners. It's a joke.
Only, not really.
They usually visit us here once a year except for the rare occasions that we go there. This year was our turn to travel. Traveling with two
But, I digress!
Mike doesn't drive. I do. Mike won't fly. If I want him to come with us, I have to drive to NY. It's not horrible, I don't think. My kids can just be annoying and I have literally no patience and also, I have a hard time driving for extended periods of time without being in pain or wanting to kill someone. Mostly, someone INSIDE the vehicle.
So we decided to take two days to drive there and kind of relax and take our time. I think that I am incapable of fully relaxing, though, because that never happened.
***
What DID happen is that we met up with my friend Lexie and her sons, Max and Isaac, on the way there. We met up for lunch and all four kids were pretty mute (which was kind of cool and I am considering taking them with us everywhere so that my children never speak!). We got to talk, though, and that was lovely. Lexie is a mom who also had her first child in April 2007 like I did. We belonged to an online parenting board for hot moms delivering in April 2007 and have been friends ever since. We've never met in person, though, so this was awesome. I love her. She is the best.
There are a LOT of women from this board with whom I have amazing friendships. This is just about LEXIE, though, so relax, ladies.
 |
| Here we are, looking adorable! |
 |
| And here are the kids. |
And then we were on our way again!
***
 |
| Home again. |
I won't go into the whole drive because boring, but we drove and then we slept somewhere and then we drove again and got to NY!
We stayed at a hotel on Long Island not too far from my sister's house and we spent the week with them.
The end.
Just kidding. I mean, we DID stay there and it WAS near my sister's house, but I will
***
Grammy spoil us. She always says it's because she never gets to see us, but I think she would do it even if she saw us all the time. She likes to see us happy. We would be happy just being with her withOUT doing things, but she still likes to DO things with us. We love it, too. The kids may love it a little bit more than I do because I am lazy, but I DO love it.
Grammy and Resa (what the girls call my sister, Teresa) made yummy food for us and took us to lots of fun places. We got to go to a children's museum, a trampoline place, a petting farm, a ceramic painting place, and Dave and Buster's. We also went to Red Lobster and the Dollar Tree. Those were my favorites. I enjoy food and cheap things.
 | ||||
| We swam. |
 | ||
| We jumped. |
 |
| We fed goats. |
 |
| We pretended to be pirates! |
 |
| We slid down frog-shaped slides. |
 |
| We took selfies. |
***
And that is all for Part 1. Tune in tomorrow (although, it won't be tomorrow) for the exciting conclusion!
***
Friday, July 29, 2016
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.
Don't worry, my dedicated fans! I have not forsaken you all for the exciting world of Pokemon Go.
It's just been a busy few weeks. I plan on writing all about my summer adventures shortly!
In the meantime, enjoy this:
It's just been a busy few weeks. I plan on writing all about my summer adventures shortly!
In the meantime, enjoy this:
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
This fucking horse
This whole thing has been incredibly difficult lately. I ate a lot of shit on the camping trip. The day after we got home, I got right back on the horse and started eating the correct way again. I haven't slipped up and I was able to just pick it up again after those two days.
But, guys? It's so hard sometimes.
***
I know I may have mentioned it before, but I really love food. I always said that I live to eat. I don't eat to live.
It's a shitty thing and it's really not healthy in any way, but it is what it is and food is delicious and fuck you to anyone who can only eat lettuce and be satisfied with nary a piece of cheese or cake. That's just crazy talk!
But, yeah. Why does food have to taste so good?
***
Food I miss the most OR things I CAN eat, but choose not to because I cannot be trusted to eat just a small serving:
So much more.
I KNOW some of you are thinking, "Why Adrienne, some of those are perfectly healthy choices! Why would you prevent yourself from having them, you silly girl??"
Those of you thinking that most likely lead normal lives with a healthy view of food and no chronic illnesses.
Diabetes sucks so badly. It will take normal, everyday things like FUCKING CEREAL and ruin your life forever. Diabetes doesn't care what you like or who you are or what day it is. And every diabetic is different, so fuck you about the bananas, because there are ten million other diabetics that CAN eat them with no blood sugar spike and sucks to be you!
But that is for another post.
***
This post is to bitch and moan and cry.
Anyone that tells you all they do is eat right and exercise and GUYS, IT'S SO EASY is either lying, or out of their ever-loving mind.
I cry a lot sometimes. I cry because I feel guilty for letting myself get to this point. I cry because I see people at restaurants or in supermarkets getting whatever they want to eat and not having to calculate every carb gram and amount of exercise that will help get rid of those carbs, and how much water you need to drink to help that, and what time of day it is, and when did I take my last dose, and will I be able to get enough movement in tomorrow to keep my numbers down?
And so much. I cannot imagine just buying anything I want without thinking once about the effect it will have on my blood sugar numbers.
And yet, it's what I have to do. And I will always have to do it. And sometimes I need to just stfu and stop my whining and ride that fucking horse to the finish line.
***
But, guys?
It's so hard. :(
But, guys? It's so hard sometimes.
***
I know I may have mentioned it before, but I really love food. I always said that I live to eat. I don't eat to live.
It's a shitty thing and it's really not healthy in any way, but it is what it is and food is delicious and fuck you to anyone who can only eat lettuce and be satisfied with nary a piece of cheese or cake. That's just crazy talk!
But, yeah. Why does food have to taste so good?
***
Food I miss the most OR things I CAN eat, but choose not to because I cannot be trusted to eat just a small serving:
- Pasta of any kind.
- Mac and cheese.
- Italian bread, rolls, baguettes, bagels, fucking regular hot dog buns.
- French fries.
- Cookies and cupcakes and moist cake with icing.
- Cereal with milk.
- Chocolate milk.
- ORANGE JUICE.
- Bananas.
- Baked potatoes.
- Raindrops on roses.
So much more.
I KNOW some of you are thinking, "Why Adrienne, some of those are perfectly healthy choices! Why would you prevent yourself from having them, you silly girl??"
Those of you thinking that most likely lead normal lives with a healthy view of food and no chronic illnesses.
Diabetes sucks so badly. It will take normal, everyday things like FUCKING CEREAL and ruin your life forever. Diabetes doesn't care what you like or who you are or what day it is. And every diabetic is different, so fuck you about the bananas, because there are ten million other diabetics that CAN eat them with no blood sugar spike and sucks to be you!
But that is for another post.
***
This post is to bitch and moan and cry.
Anyone that tells you all they do is eat right and exercise and GUYS, IT'S SO EASY is either lying, or out of their ever-loving mind.
I cry a lot sometimes. I cry because I feel guilty for letting myself get to this point. I cry because I see people at restaurants or in supermarkets getting whatever they want to eat and not having to calculate every carb gram and amount of exercise that will help get rid of those carbs, and how much water you need to drink to help that, and what time of day it is, and when did I take my last dose, and will I be able to get enough movement in tomorrow to keep my numbers down?
And so much. I cannot imagine just buying anything I want without thinking once about the effect it will have on my blood sugar numbers.
And yet, it's what I have to do. And I will always have to do it. And sometimes I need to just stfu and stop my whining and ride that fucking horse to the finish line.
***
But, guys?
It's so hard. :(
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
All that we cannot see.
I went camping this weekend with my daughters' Girl Scout troop. I was kind of dreading it, to be honest. Being in the woods, in the summer, with nowhere to turn if panic set in was scary. I was sick for the few days before going.
But let me backtrack a bit.
***
I've lost 80 pounds since I started this journey. Eighty pounds with which I fought. Eighty pounds of blood, sweat, and tears. I work at it, you guys. It's hard. I cry sometimes. I want to give in often. I am angry and sad and defeated more than I would like to admit. But I still try and I still go on. Because - I promise - it is worth it.
Anyway! I have always been a jiggly fat person. My fat was never firm. There has always been droopy, wiggly, jiggly skin. I have always had flips and flaps and bounces.
I have spent years hiding those bits that bothered me the most. While my body as a whole was acceptable to me, those parts were not.
My inner legs. My arms. My breasts. My lower stomach (or fat chunk as I affectionately call it). I hate them. Their jiggle is what annoys me the most.
Since losing weight, the jiggle and flaps and loose skin has gotten so much worse.
But, you guys, it was going to be HOT. I needed to get spending-time-in-the-woods-without-completely-dying clothes. I was terrified.
First order of business: A bathing suit. I'm ok with them, to be honest. Not sure why, but they don't bother me. This time, however, the skirt part (don't hate) was a bit shorter than previous suits I had gotten. Not only was it shorter, but the jigglies are hanging lower and the flappies are more noticeable. Could I do it? I bought the suit and worked myself up and told myself it is what it is and I needed to just deal.
Second order of business: Shirts. Cap sleeve shirts are the worst, friends. They cover a bit of the shoulders and then my wings are exposed for all the world to see. They were out of the question. As were tank stops. Which, for some odd reason, are pretty rampant in the fat girl clothes arena. Am the only jiggly one? Or am I the only one that cares? Shit to ponder at 3 AM when I should be sleeping but need to go over every single thought that has ever occurred to me in the past 41 years (where is that Holly Hobby doll, anyway??).
I tried on a few shirts. Not gonna happen. Then I tried on two more. They were tighter and shorter than I was used to. And, they had shorter sleeves. Not straps. Not caps. Just shorter.
I tentatively showed Mike (who, to his credit, honestly loves every bit of me) and asked him if they were ok. He said he loved them and they were perfect.
While I wasn't sold and I was still worried about wearing them, I bought them. I packed them and panicked and debated leaving them home. In the end, off they went with me to Jellystone Park (Yogi Bear reprezent!).
The time came to dress for the day. I considered wearing something else I had brought with me. I cringed a little inside just thinking of my arms showing. And then, I put one of them on.
And I left the cabin (yes, I didn't sleep in a tent. Small steps, y'all!). Self conscious the entire way, I walked to the tent area and tried to act as if everything was ok. Inside, I was still freaking out.
And then it happened. Nothing. No one looked at me or whispered about me or even cared, to be honest. No one cared but me.
***
The day went on and I wore the hell out of that shirt. I hung out and laughed and ate and just enjoyed myself. I even took a picture. I forgot that my arms were out and I forgot that the jigglies were even there.
I looked at the picture later on that day. It was me and some lovely ladies sharing a moment of happiness. And it was ok. Yes, my arms were wrinkly and baggy and not very attractive. But the world didn't end. No one shunned me. My heart was still beating and i was still enjoying life.
I posted that picture to Facebook, made a joke about my arms, and went about my day.
***
Here's the thing about those arms:
While they ARE fat and they ARE jiggly and they ARE baggy, they are still strong. They hold my babies when they hurt. They hug those whom I love. They lift and they carry and they drive.
They get me where I need to go.
You may see wings of skin and fat, but there is so much more that you DON'T see.
You DON'T see the strength it took to decide to get myself healthier and to actually do it. You DON'T see the weight I was before and the weight I am now. You DON'T see how hard I have worked and how many tears I have shed.
You DON'T see that the woman inside of me has made her way out.
And yes, there will always be remnants of my old body. And yes, I plan on losing so much more. And yes, as time goes on, I will have more and more loose skin and baggy parts.
But you DON'T see how proud I am of that skin. I am proud because it is a testament to the fact that I can do it. I CAN work hard. I CAN see the evidence of that work.
***
There is so very much that you can see when you look at my body.
But, my friends, there is even MORE that you cannot.
And those things are the very things that matter the most.
***
But let me backtrack a bit.
***
I've lost 80 pounds since I started this journey. Eighty pounds with which I fought. Eighty pounds of blood, sweat, and tears. I work at it, you guys. It's hard. I cry sometimes. I want to give in often. I am angry and sad and defeated more than I would like to admit. But I still try and I still go on. Because - I promise - it is worth it.
Anyway! I have always been a jiggly fat person. My fat was never firm. There has always been droopy, wiggly, jiggly skin. I have always had flips and flaps and bounces.
I have spent years hiding those bits that bothered me the most. While my body as a whole was acceptable to me, those parts were not.
My inner legs. My arms. My breasts. My lower stomach (or fat chunk as I affectionately call it). I hate them. Their jiggle is what annoys me the most.
Since losing weight, the jiggle and flaps and loose skin has gotten so much worse.
But, you guys, it was going to be HOT. I needed to get spending-time-in-the-woods-without-completely-dying clothes. I was terrified.
First order of business: A bathing suit. I'm ok with them, to be honest. Not sure why, but they don't bother me. This time, however, the skirt part (don't hate) was a bit shorter than previous suits I had gotten. Not only was it shorter, but the jigglies are hanging lower and the flappies are more noticeable. Could I do it? I bought the suit and worked myself up and told myself it is what it is and I needed to just deal.
Second order of business: Shirts. Cap sleeve shirts are the worst, friends. They cover a bit of the shoulders and then my wings are exposed for all the world to see. They were out of the question. As were tank stops. Which, for some odd reason, are pretty rampant in the fat girl clothes arena. Am the only jiggly one? Or am I the only one that cares? Shit to ponder at 3 AM when I should be sleeping but need to go over every single thought that has ever occurred to me in the past 41 years (where is that Holly Hobby doll, anyway??).
I tried on a few shirts. Not gonna happen. Then I tried on two more. They were tighter and shorter than I was used to. And, they had shorter sleeves. Not straps. Not caps. Just shorter.
I tentatively showed Mike (who, to his credit, honestly loves every bit of me) and asked him if they were ok. He said he loved them and they were perfect.
While I wasn't sold and I was still worried about wearing them, I bought them. I packed them and panicked and debated leaving them home. In the end, off they went with me to Jellystone Park (Yogi Bear reprezent!).
The time came to dress for the day. I considered wearing something else I had brought with me. I cringed a little inside just thinking of my arms showing. And then, I put one of them on.
And I left the cabin (yes, I didn't sleep in a tent. Small steps, y'all!). Self conscious the entire way, I walked to the tent area and tried to act as if everything was ok. Inside, I was still freaking out.
And then it happened. Nothing. No one looked at me or whispered about me or even cared, to be honest. No one cared but me.
***
The day went on and I wore the hell out of that shirt. I hung out and laughed and ate and just enjoyed myself. I even took a picture. I forgot that my arms were out and I forgot that the jigglies were even there.
I looked at the picture later on that day. It was me and some lovely ladies sharing a moment of happiness. And it was ok. Yes, my arms were wrinkly and baggy and not very attractive. But the world didn't end. No one shunned me. My heart was still beating and i was still enjoying life.
I posted that picture to Facebook, made a joke about my arms, and went about my day.
Here's the thing about those arms:
While they ARE fat and they ARE jiggly and they ARE baggy, they are still strong. They hold my babies when they hurt. They hug those whom I love. They lift and they carry and they drive.
They get me where I need to go.
You may see wings of skin and fat, but there is so much more that you DON'T see.
You DON'T see the strength it took to decide to get myself healthier and to actually do it. You DON'T see the weight I was before and the weight I am now. You DON'T see how hard I have worked and how many tears I have shed.
You DON'T see that the woman inside of me has made her way out.
And yes, there will always be remnants of my old body. And yes, I plan on losing so much more. And yes, as time goes on, I will have more and more loose skin and baggy parts.
But you DON'T see how proud I am of that skin. I am proud because it is a testament to the fact that I can do it. I CAN work hard. I CAN see the evidence of that work.
***
There is so very much that you can see when you look at my body.
But, my friends, there is even MORE that you cannot.
And those things are the very things that matter the most.
***
Sunday, June 19, 2016
hashtagSadface
Ugh. Life is so sad lately. Sad things in the news. people feeling sad. People doing sad things. People making ME sad.
Just so sad.
I want to be all cheerful and say, "Buck up, world!" I don't, though, because 1) that's rude, 2) people who say buck up are usually lame and ignored, and C) the world doesn't want to hear that.
But for real. Buck the fuck up. Stop being mean and vindictive. Stop holding grudges. Stop KILLING each other and BLAMING each other and being assholes in general.
I am so tired of shit bringing me down. I have enough chemical crap going on in my head like a huge, bullshit stone soup kind of thing with each different area throwing its own piece of garbage in it and I am DONE.
I"m exhausted, people. I am sure so many of us are.
***
So, yes. This is my whiny post. My post to say get over yourselves, people. If someone gets you upset, talk to them privately and hash it out. I'll be doing this myself this week. I'm feeling like I need to EXPRESS MYSELF(™). It's time, yo.
***
This bipolar shit doesn't give a break, you guys. Just when you think you've got it under control, it comes up behind you and punches you in the back as if to say, "Tag! You're it now!" And that makes me angry, which makes me sad, which makes me want to rant and whine and punch people. And that is where I am right now.
Congrats! Now you all win because you get to read this. Sorry, peeps.
Also, if this sounds all over the place, it's because I am super manic and had to take Klonopin to calm the fuck down.
Not crazy. Just tired of stupid shit.
Don't worry, though! I have tons of other shit to post about in the future. Only not really. I have two more things.
If there's anything you want to know or ask me or make me talk about, feel free to comment here, message me, text me, or post on facebook.
Other than that, sorry for the shitty post.
Verbal diarrhea, this one!
***
P.S. I had to buy new bras and now my boobs look FABULOUS! They think they are 19 again. Ok, 29, maybe. 35??
P.P.S. Happy Father's Day, fathers and single moms!! We love you guys.
Just so sad.
I want to be all cheerful and say, "Buck up, world!" I don't, though, because 1) that's rude, 2) people who say buck up are usually lame and ignored, and C) the world doesn't want to hear that.
But for real. Buck the fuck up. Stop being mean and vindictive. Stop holding grudges. Stop KILLING each other and BLAMING each other and being assholes in general.
I am so tired of shit bringing me down. I have enough chemical crap going on in my head like a huge, bullshit stone soup kind of thing with each different area throwing its own piece of garbage in it and I am DONE.
I"m exhausted, people. I am sure so many of us are.
***
So, yes. This is my whiny post. My post to say get over yourselves, people. If someone gets you upset, talk to them privately and hash it out. I'll be doing this myself this week. I'm feeling like I need to EXPRESS MYSELF(™). It's time, yo.
***
This bipolar shit doesn't give a break, you guys. Just when you think you've got it under control, it comes up behind you and punches you in the back as if to say, "Tag! You're it now!" And that makes me angry, which makes me sad, which makes me want to rant and whine and punch people. And that is where I am right now.
Congrats! Now you all win because you get to read this. Sorry, peeps.
Also, if this sounds all over the place, it's because I am super manic and had to take Klonopin to calm the fuck down.
Not crazy. Just tired of stupid shit.
Don't worry, though! I have tons of other shit to post about in the future. Only not really. I have two more things.
If there's anything you want to know or ask me or make me talk about, feel free to comment here, message me, text me, or post on facebook.
Other than that, sorry for the shitty post.
Verbal diarrhea, this one!
***
P.S. I had to buy new bras and now my boobs look FABULOUS! They think they are 19 again. Ok, 29, maybe. 35??
P.P.S. Happy Father's Day, fathers and single moms!! We love you guys.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
BFF
“There is no sincerer love than the love of food.”
-George Bernard Shaw
I googled food quotes for this post and saw that one and chose it. I don't know if Shaw actually said it, but I am ok with believing he did and moving on.
***
I'm Italian. Growing up, we celebrated everything with a meal. You graduated? Let's go out to eat! You're engaged? Come over and I'll make you some lasagna! You found the best nail polish ever? Let's have a BBQ!
Just kidding about the last one. We didn't have a BBQ at our house.
Food was a way to celebrate. Food was a way to show your love. Food was my BFF. I spent a lot of time with food. I was a latchkey kid. I came home after school, sometimes with my friends, and I ate. I ate a lot. Sometimes good things like tuna. Sometimes crappy food like bread crumbs and egg fried into patties. DON'T JUDGE. I just ate.
***
My mom is an amazing cook. She makes the best sauce and amazing broccoli rabe and even her salad made with vinegar and oil is somehow that of angel's wings and fairy dust. I have tried recreating her food hundreds of times, but always fall short.
When I was little, I loved "helping" her cook. She gave me important jobs like grating the parmesan or shredding the mozzarella. Sometimes, if she was making stuffed shells, I got to help mix ingredients in the ricotta cheese for the filling.
I loved it. I loved spending time with her and making something for people and just feeling loved and needed. I associated those times with her love for me and her love for others. She cooked BECAUSE she loved and those she cooked FOR no doubt felt that.
Therefore, food equaled love for me. I don't say all of this to blame my mother or claim it's her fault. On the contrary. She instilled in me the love of wanting to do for people. Of wanting to show my love with my skills and not with money. Those are wonderful traits, and I am grateful for them. It was my own mind that confused me.
And now I am craving chicken cutlets or meatballs (saved out of the sauce just for me!). Sometimes it's a good thing that she lives 750 miles away from me. She would, no doubt, cook for me all the time. I may have to have another baby, though. She cooked and cleaned my house and brought me food in bed and shit like that when I had the other ones. Let me go get Mike....
But, I digress! I am too old for babies and too tired to even eat right now.
***
As I grew older, I still had a love affair with food. Only this time, it wasn't delicious pastas and breads with salad. It was whatever I could get my hands on.
Quick interjection:
I was clearly in need of some mental health help when I was younger. I once wrote a note saying I wanted to die and put it into my little Jordache (REPREZENT) purse. I lost it at school and the principal found it. She looked inside to see who the bag belonged to, found the note, and called me to her office. I was eight. She asked why I wrote it, I told her it was a joke, and she sent me back to class. Can you even imagine?? What were we thinking back then?
I was also sent to the school therapist when I was 14 because I was talking about suicide. She talked to me, told me I should lose weight, and sent me on my way. Even suggested Weight Watchers. Once you lose weight, you guys, all your problems disappear! I know this because Richard Simmons told me so.
So, yes. I needed help, but didn't have anyone to help me, so I ate my feelings. Sad? Food. Happy? Food. Scared? Food. Tired? My bed. I couldn't cope with things on my own, so I recruited food to try to help me.
It DID make me numb. It DID help me forget for a few minutes. It DID give me indigestion. Help me, though, it did not.
I was still sad. I was still suicidal. I was still fucked up.
***
You all know the song and dance, I imagine. The sadder I got, the more I ate. The more I ate, the bigger I got, the more I NEEDED to eat to keep my shit together. I am surprised I never ate myself into a heart attack.
Don't get me wrong. I was a relatively happy child and teenager. I think I was, anyway. Happiness is not the same as not being depressed, though. Being depressed doesn't mean you are sad. I don't know any way to accurately explain that, so you're gonna have to trust me on this one.
***
For the next twenty or so years, I ate my feelings. I didn't know any other way to get through them. Also, once you've been doing it for so long, it is who you are. It's not strange or shameful or embarrassing. It's just what you do. It's just how you cope.
And it's EXTREMELY hard to get over.
***
Friday, June 10, 2016
Beginning again.
So there I was, in all my glory.
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Again, I'm not sure what I had been thinking, but I guess I didn't realize how much I had gained.
Looking at myself next to my six-year-old, it finally occurred to me that I wasn't only damaging my OWN life, I was damaging the lives of my children. I mean, look at me. I was out of control in so many ways. I was passing horrible habits down to my children. I just didn't care. About much. Or anything. Or a LOT.
I am not joking when I say that, like THAT, I decided enough was enough.
I know people always say, "You won't do it until you're ready," and it's seen as a platitude or an excuse, but I truly believe it's the truth. You won't. You may consider it. You may start it. You may think you want it. But you don't and you won't and you don't again.
That was the end of May. By the beginning of June, I had started over.
At first, it wasn't a lot of changes all at once. I didn't think I could handle that, to be honest. I started by basically lowering my carbs. I didn't count calories or fat grams or protein or lettuce leaves. I counted carbs. My MAIN goal at the time was to keep my diabetes under control, but also to take it to the next level. My a1c was 6.2 at this point (I'll explain that business in another post - EXCITING, I KNOW!), but I wanted to get it lower.
I counted carbs and tried to move more and got myself down 30 pounds. I was super proud and excited and I felt as if I could do anything.
My sister and my mother visited in July. I know I didn't LOOK much different, but I felt so much better. I was able to handle doing more things than I had on their previous visits, and I just felt more in control. This affected my relationship with Mike (which I MAY get into at a later time if he is ok with it). In a good way! Being happy with MYSELF made me happier in so many other ways, and that creates a domino effect in that the people around me enjoyed my company more and then I felt even BETTER about myself. And so on. And so on. And then I shampooed my hair and told all of my friends about it and if that makes no sense to you, then you are officially too young.
***
So, this continued for a few months and I started having to buy new clothes and starting fitting better in things (like my car and chairs and THINGS in general). Stuff AND things, you know.
Intermission: If you are not morbidly obese, it may not occur to you that you look at everything before you sit in it, step on it, or lie on it. You nonchalantly check things out to see if you will fit, and if so, how uncomfortable will you be?
So, yes. That shit started to get better. Not perfect, but better.
***
In the middle of April, I had a regular appointment with my doctor. Blah blah blah, meds. Blah blah blah, possible menopause. Blah blah blah, weight and diabetes.
My weight was officially down 60 pounds and my a1c was 5.5. Both awesome numbers, but I still knew I needed more.
I really started clamping down on my calories and carbs and I have lost another 17 pounds since then (77 pounds total!). Totally proud and totally excited and not even the slightest bit modest about it.
And now I am here:
It has been SO hard. Food is my friend. For realsies. I love it. I love the way it tastes. I love the way it smells. I love how it smiles at me
and gives me little air kisses from the plate and tells me how pretty I am.
Putting some distance between myself and food was one of the hardest things I've done. And you guys, I had two c-sections, had staples rip out and new staples put in without any anesthetic of any kind, moved to effing CINCINNATI by myself, and lost the only father figure I ever had.
This was worse. I KNOW I sound melodramatic. And I probably am. But guys, I love food.
Only, food never loved me back.
***
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Again, I'm not sure what I had been thinking, but I guess I didn't realize how much I had gained.
Looking at myself next to my six-year-old, it finally occurred to me that I wasn't only damaging my OWN life, I was damaging the lives of my children. I mean, look at me. I was out of control in so many ways. I was passing horrible habits down to my children. I just didn't care. About much. Or anything. Or a LOT.
I am not joking when I say that, like THAT, I decided enough was enough.
I know people always say, "You won't do it until you're ready," and it's seen as a platitude or an excuse, but I truly believe it's the truth. You won't. You may consider it. You may start it. You may think you want it. But you don't and you won't and you don't again.
That was the end of May. By the beginning of June, I had started over.
At first, it wasn't a lot of changes all at once. I didn't think I could handle that, to be honest. I started by basically lowering my carbs. I didn't count calories or fat grams or protein or lettuce leaves. I counted carbs. My MAIN goal at the time was to keep my diabetes under control, but also to take it to the next level. My a1c was 6.2 at this point (I'll explain that business in another post - EXCITING, I KNOW!), but I wanted to get it lower.
I counted carbs and tried to move more and got myself down 30 pounds. I was super proud and excited and I felt as if I could do anything.
My sister and my mother visited in July. I know I didn't LOOK much different, but I felt so much better. I was able to handle doing more things than I had on their previous visits, and I just felt more in control. This affected my relationship with Mike (which I MAY get into at a later time if he is ok with it). In a good way! Being happy with MYSELF made me happier in so many other ways, and that creates a domino effect in that the people around me enjoyed my company more and then I felt even BETTER about myself. And so on. And so on. And then I shampooed my hair and told all of my friends about it and if that makes no sense to you, then you are officially too young.
***
So, this continued for a few months and I started having to buy new clothes and starting fitting better in things (like my car and chairs and THINGS in general). Stuff AND things, you know.
Intermission: If you are not morbidly obese, it may not occur to you that you look at everything before you sit in it, step on it, or lie on it. You nonchalantly check things out to see if you will fit, and if so, how uncomfortable will you be?
So, yes. That shit started to get better. Not perfect, but better.
***
In the middle of April, I had a regular appointment with my doctor. Blah blah blah, meds. Blah blah blah, possible menopause. Blah blah blah, weight and diabetes.
My weight was officially down 60 pounds and my a1c was 5.5. Both awesome numbers, but I still knew I needed more.
I really started clamping down on my calories and carbs and I have lost another 17 pounds since then (77 pounds total!). Totally proud and totally excited and not even the slightest bit modest about it.
And now I am here:
It has been SO hard. Food is my friend. For realsies. I love it. I love the way it tastes. I love the way it smells. I love how it smiles at me
and gives me little air kisses from the plate and tells me how pretty I am.
Putting some distance between myself and food was one of the hardest things I've done. And you guys, I had two c-sections, had staples rip out and new staples put in without any anesthetic of any kind, moved to effing CINCINNATI by myself, and lost the only father figure I ever had.
This was worse. I KNOW I sound melodramatic. And I probably am. But guys, I love food.
Only, food never loved me back.
***
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Excess Baggage.
Let's go back a little bit. I don't want this to be all about my weight loss. I mean, that WILL be a big part of it, but it's more about a transformation as a whole. If you think I'm going to post lame cliches and random INSPIRATION posts, well, you're right! I know some people find that annoying and self-righteous and that's all good. I CAN be annoying and self-righteous and it's only fair to be completely honest about that! And, to be TRULY honest, that kind of stuff DOES help me. If it works, I want to share it, because why wouldn't I want to tell everyone what makes me happy and what gives me inspiration? I spent a LONG time being quiet about the things that hurt me AND the things that helped me. Not sure why. I guess some of it has to do with trying not to annoy anyone. Or perhaps worrying that people don't care. Or both. I'm not sure, really. I AM sure that I am ok with sharing (most of ) the good and bad things about me.
But, I digress! Which I will probably do a lot. I love to talk and I love writing (typing?) even more.
I wouldn't have been able to set a course for myself and stay on it if I hadn't gotten rid of some other things that were bogging me down. I couldn't have, actually. There wouldn't have been room enough in my head to stay focused and sure about my plan. I needed to let things go.
But, I digress! Which I will probably do a lot. I love to talk and I love writing (typing?) even more.
I wouldn't have been able to set a course for myself and stay on it if I hadn't gotten rid of some other things that were bogging me down. I couldn't have, actually. There wouldn't have been room enough in my head to stay focused and sure about my plan. I needed to let things go.
***
Years and years ago, I did something pretty horrible. I don't feel comfortable saying what it is right now, but suffice it to say it was not good. I know, I know. I HATE when people bring something up all Facebook-style, but then don't tell you what it is. "GUYS, PRAY FOR ME. I CAN'T TELL YOU WHY, BUT I NEED PRAYERS. IT'S SERIOUS, YOU GUYS. PRAY."
I WILL pray for you, but like, what level of prayer do you need? Do you want me to pray that your mother isn't ill or that your cat makes it through surgery? Or am I praying for your ingrown toenail to stop hurting so much? I need to know!
Years and years ago, I did something pretty horrible. I don't feel comfortable saying what it is right now, but suffice it to say it was not good. I know, I know. I HATE when people bring something up all Facebook-style, but then don't tell you what it is. "GUYS, PRAY FOR ME. I CAN'T TELL YOU WHY, BUT I NEED PRAYERS. IT'S SERIOUS, YOU GUYS. PRAY."
I WILL pray for you, but like, what level of prayer do you need? Do you want me to pray that your mother isn't ill or that your cat makes it through surgery? Or am I praying for your ingrown toenail to stop hurting so much? I need to know!
So, trust me when I say it was bad, and I wouldn't even have brought it up if there wasn't a point and if it hadn't had so very much to do with who I had become. Forgive me.
I had been carrying that shit around with me for years. It was shitty, it hurt people, and it was against everything I thought I stood for. I apologized (which, trust me, didn't even begin to make it better). I tried to atone. I explained my actions. I am positive now that it had a lot to do with having undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I am not excusing it, I'm just explaining.
So, one day I said to myself, "Self. You fucked up. You did a shitty thing. You were super selfish. You tried to make amends. This is eating at you. You can't let this rule your life." And then it was over!
Just kidding. I still felt like a douchebag. Only, I started thinking about it and praying about it and trying to figure out how I could fix it. I couldn't fix it, though, so I had to forgive myself.
The thing is, I had taken some time and forgiven so many people over the years. Forgiveness truly IS good for your soul. I can never forget most things, but I CAN say, "Hey. It happened. It probably won't happen again. I have to be chill and assume the best from now on."
And I had to forgive myself. This took work, y'all. It was hard. We sometimes (especially as women) can't forgive ourselves because it seems selfish. But, if I could do a BAD thing out of selfishness, why couldn't I do a GOOD thing? I could! And I did. And I spent time saying to myself, "You did then what you knew then, and now that you KNOW better, you can DO better." Props, Oprah. Thanks for representing the '90s for me.
And I had to forgive myself. This took work, y'all. It was hard. We sometimes (especially as women) can't forgive ourselves because it seems selfish. But, if I could do a BAD thing out of selfishness, why couldn't I do a GOOD thing? I could! And I did. And I spent time saying to myself, "You did then what you knew then, and now that you KNOW better, you can DO better." Props, Oprah. Thanks for representing the '90s for me.
So, I let it go as much as I could. I swear, you guys, it made a difference. Once I let THAT go, I could work on other things that were holding me down.
***
My 30s were not the greatest decade for me. I mean, I had both of my girls in my 30s and I grew to know myself a whole lot better, but some pretty sad things happened in my 30s, as well. It just wasn't good. One thing that I DID do in my 30s was figure out some pretty rad things about friendship.
You see, you don't HAVE to be friends with people if you don't like them. I know, right? Mind. Blown. I had some "friends" in my life that literally brought me nothing but pain. They had absolutely NO benefits in my life. I never felt good in their presence and, for the most part, actually felt like shit.
My 30s were not the greatest decade for me. I mean, I had both of my girls in my 30s and I grew to know myself a whole lot better, but some pretty sad things happened in my 30s, as well. It just wasn't good. One thing that I DID do in my 30s was figure out some pretty rad things about friendship.
You see, you don't HAVE to be friends with people if you don't like them. I know, right? Mind. Blown. I had some "friends" in my life that literally brought me nothing but pain. They had absolutely NO benefits in my life. I never felt good in their presence and, for the most part, actually felt like shit.
So, I stopped being friends with them. I cut them out of my life. It didn't go over well. I was told I was selfish and crazy and a mean person. And I cried. I cried a lot, my friends. I felt like a shitbag.
And then after a few weeks, I woke up and there were little robins outside my window singing catchy Disney tunes and waking me up with a smiling sun in the background, scooping out some cereal in a bowl for me. It was awesome.
And then after a few weeks, I woke up and there were little robins outside my window singing catchy Disney tunes and waking me up with a smiling sun in the background, scooping out some cereal in a bowl for me. It was awesome.
Only, that didn't happen. What DID happen was that I slowly realized how much confidence I was starting to get back. I started feeling ok about myself again. I started, wait for it, BEING HAPPY.
I also started appreciating my awesome friends even more. Making your circle smaller may seem counter-intuitive, but it actually opens you up to MORE love. And it did.
And it was good.
And it was good.
***
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Begin at the beginning.
I've always been overweight. Well, maybe not as a newborn, but ever since then I have weighed more than I should. I was cute, don't get me wrong, but I was always bigger than the other kids.
I was never traumatized by my weight. I DO remember shopping in TSS (a New York-based department store) with my mother when I was little and having to go to the "chubby" section to buy clothes. I'm sure it wasn't literally CALLED the chubby section, but that's what my mother asked for, and that's what the lady directed her to.
"Oh, you'll need to go to the CHUBBY SECTION for her, ma'am."
"Oh, you'll need to go to the CHUBBY SECTION for her, ma'am."
Y'all, I could feed a goat with the best of them!
When I was 13, my mother took me to my first Weight Watcher's meeting. I was so annoyed. Surely she didn't expect me to join her and my sister on the weight-loss journey when I was perfect as I was? Was she insane? I humored her, of course. I let her weigh my foods and used Sweet 'n Low liberally and attended my weekly weigh-ins.
This was the beginning, you guys. I spent years after this losing and gaining weight. I repeated the cycle, got angry with myself, and finally realized I liked food too much to be divorced from it.
****
I totally always felt as if I were hot shit. From my youth into my teens into my young adulthood; I always felt confident and secure. I was fat, sure, but I was beautiful. I don't think I every TRULY thought anything else. I was aware that people made fun of "THE FATS," but I never really felt as if anyone made fun of ME. Perhaps I was naive. Perhaps I was immune. Perhaps I didn't give a shit. No matter what, I never played myself down.
I dressed up. I got my hair did. I put on makeup. I accessorized. I was a stone-cold fox.
This went on for years. Even when someone DID bring attention to my weight, I was almost shocked by it. I remember being in Kmart when I was around 22 or so. I was browsing greeting cards and a young teen walked by the aisle and said, "Hey! I think somebody FREED WILLY." He laughed and pointed. I looked around me, horrified for the person he was talking to. Would he or she be hurt? It was only as I noticed that I was alone in the aisle that I realized he was talking about ME. I was taken aback. Is he calling me fat??
Well, yes. How I made it that long without noticing anyone making fun of me is beyond my comprehension. I didn't get sad, though. I walked around the end of the aisle and called out to him, "You're an asshole!" Great comeback, I know. Pretty sure it made me super cool. Or something. You work with what you've got, though, and asshole was it.
This went on for years. Even when someone DID bring attention to my weight, I was almost shocked by it. I remember being in Kmart when I was around 22 or so. I was browsing greeting cards and a young teen walked by the aisle and said, "Hey! I think somebody FREED WILLY." He laughed and pointed. I looked around me, horrified for the person he was talking to. Would he or she be hurt? It was only as I noticed that I was alone in the aisle that I realized he was talking about ME. I was taken aback. Is he calling me fat??
Well, yes. How I made it that long without noticing anyone making fun of me is beyond my comprehension. I didn't get sad, though. I walked around the end of the aisle and called out to him, "You're an asshole!" Great comeback, I know. Pretty sure it made me super cool. Or something. You work with what you've got, though, and asshole was it.
Life went on, though, and I got older. I had boyfriends and fiancees and husbands. Well, one husband. I wasn't a whore, you know. My point is that I never had problems with guys. I assume it was my attitude. I thought I was amazing, so why shouldn't everyone else?
Then I had my babies, you guys.
I lost 52 pounds when I was pregnant with Alyssa. Some of it was the fact that she was a human parasite and consumed everything I put in my mouth. Most of it was the fact that I threw up constantly and the very HINT of cooking meat sent me to my room for hours.
It was cute, though. Look at me being thinner AFTER birth than before. Only, you guys, I still loved food and made up for those nine months by gaining back my lost weight AND a ton (omg pun) more.
Then I had my second parasite and gained even more. What can I say? I really enjoy the eats.
Years went by and I really didn't give much thought to my weight. Sure, I couldn't run around a lot with my girls. Sure, I got tired easily. Sure, I went through a lot of Doritos. I was still pretty much fine with my body.
Then, you guys. Then I found out I was diabetic. It was November 2012. I am on a few (ok, QUITE a few) meds for my mental health. I had blood tests taken every three months to check my liver and kidney function. This time, my doctor walked in the room and looked sad. I assumed I was dying. AS YOU DO.
Then, you guys. Then I found out I was diabetic. It was November 2012. I am on a few (ok, QUITE a few) meds for my mental health. I had blood tests taken every three months to check my liver and kidney function. This time, my doctor walked in the room and looked sad. I assumed I was dying. AS YOU DO.
She sat down, grabbed one of my hands, and said, "Adrienne, you have diabetes."
Again, I was shocked. SHOCKED. How could I have diabetes?? That's for fat people, you guys. I know diabetes can be genetic and it often runs in families and that I DID have diabetic family members, but it still never - in a MILLION YEARS - occurred to me that I might develop it.
Well, I did. I was diabetic.
Again, I was shocked. SHOCKED. How could I have diabetes?? That's for fat people, you guys. I know diabetes can be genetic and it often runs in families and that I DID have diabetic family members, but it still never - in a MILLION YEARS - occurred to me that I might develop it.
Well, I did. I was diabetic.
I cried and made an appointment with a Diabetic Nutritionist and went home with two new prescriptions and no clue at all.
I changed the way I ate ENTIRELY. I watched what I ate. I took my pills. I lost 30 pounds. My A1C went down to 6.0. I was kicking ass at this diabetes thing!
And then I gained that weight back, plus ten more pounds. I was horrible at weight loss. I just lost steam and wanted pizza and GOD DAMN IT, I was going to have it.
I changed the way I ate ENTIRELY. I watched what I ate. I took my pills. I lost 30 pounds. My A1C went down to 6.0. I was kicking ass at this diabetes thing!
And then I gained that weight back, plus ten more pounds. I was horrible at weight loss. I just lost steam and wanted pizza and GOD DAMN IT, I was going to have it.
And I did.
***
***
This continued until May 2015.
That's when I saw this:
That's when I saw this:
And I died a little inside.
***
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