[Weight 3]

Me this past week. I finally decided to wear a dress.

You are responsible for who you become… Love yourself, Like your speed; Leave your scars; Live your skills!”
― Israelmore Ayivor

Well, it’s June and I’ve made more progress. I’m down to 181lbs. That may not seem like a lot of weight loss, but it feels like a lot to me.

Even with all the issues I’ve been having to deal with, I’m still keeping the promise I made to myself to stay active. It’s getting easier and easier. I feel tighter. I mentioned last time that I had difficulty chasing after my kids, that’s no longer the case. I feel lighter, faster. I still have a lot more weight to lose but I’m doing it. I’m staying consistent and that’s been difficult.

I’m biking with my kids, running with them. I even created a game we play at the playground called Dodge Tag. It’s dodge ball but with tag elements added to it. That gets me moving and sweating. I’m trying to make this as fun as possible but I’m so proud of myself.

There have been some days where I don’t want to get up and do anything. So, on those days I get up and do chores at least. I’ll vigorously scrub the shower and mop the floors – do a lot of reaching and grabbing. I’m trying to add weight training into my routine but I’m finding it difficult for some reason. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.

So, what am I eating? I’m eating a lot more protein. I’ve even implemented protein shakes into my eating regiment. It was so easy for me to cut back on the sugar and salt. I didn’t realize how easy it would be to let that stuff go. Fast food makes me gag and I can’t eat fried foods anymore, I got rid of my grill as I’m not eating that stuff anymore either. I’m eating more fruits – not so much bananas – but ones with a lot of vitamins and fiber. I recently found out that I like quinoa and acai. Cauliflower [rice] and artichokes are becoming a fan favorite of mine as well. I’m having so much fun with this. Trying new foods, watching how much I eat. Keeping to my eating schedule and making sure I chase my kids around. No white rice, brown rice. I cut back on my potatoes; I’m eating more eggs. I had to cut back on my cottage cheese because of the dairy. And when I did that my abdomen cramps went away completely, no sharp pains, no constant running to the bathroom and my bowel movements have become regular.

I did a full blood panel and of course I’m still vitamin D deficient but I’m taking D3 for that. I wish I can work on my sleeping, though. There are days where that’s the reason why I don’t want to get up because I’m still tired. I’m going to bed on time most nights. It’s either at 8:00pm or at 9:00pm. It depends on when the kids go to bed. Seeing as they’re home for the summer they’re going to bed later in the day. On Fridays we stay up for movie night but other than that I like keeping everyone on a consistent schedule. It’s working out for us.

I want to find more recipes to keep it fresh and new. I don’t want to get bored with the things I’m eating. I’m having so much fun though. I got stuck in the I like this so I’m going to eat it forever until it’s no longer mouth stimulating. The texture journey has been an interesting one to say the least. There were things that tasted great, but I didn’t like how it felt in my mouth. Made me sad.

I haven’t weighed myself in a month, so I don’t know if I lost or gained weight which is normal, but I feel great and just typing about it is making me smile. I’m so glad I’m sticking to this.

If I didn’t have to deal with baby daddy drama, and only have to buy clothes that fit, my life would be smooth sailing. But without trials and tribulations, life would be monotonous, stagnant. There would be no room for growth.

[33°]

Originally posted January 30th, 2021

Yesterday was my son’s birthday. It was a joyous day for him. He got to eat junk food, run around and pop balloons, and open presents. He even got to “spend time” with his…dad; although he spent the couple hours he stayed pacing back and forth like he’d rather be somewhere else. My son squealed, laughed, played, watched television, and ate junk food until he was satisfied. This went on and on until he finally crashed around 10:30 pm. I was so happy that he was happy. He went to sleep with a smile on his face as usual, but I felt like this one, in particular, was special.

Every year my son’s entrance into the world and the days following up to it violently comes to mind, as well as a few days after. It’s a memory I don’t particularly care for because it appears in a flash. It sticks around like an unwanted party guest. No matter how many times I try and shove it out of my mind, it finds its way back.

Some background I’d like to mention. When I had my daughter in 2011, four days later exactly – after being released from the hospital – I had the most excruciating pain in my abdomen. It dropped me to my knees and I couldn’t move. One minute I’m fine, making Thanksgiving dinner, and the next the fire department is in my bedroom strapping me into a stair chair to take me to the hospital. They took me to the University Hospital of Twinsburg (I wouldn’t go here if you’re black, they’re bigots and sexist – more on that later) they then transferred me to Summa Health in Akron where I had her. They did a CT – gave me the solution and everything. They thought I still had after-birth inside of me. They did a vaginal exam and gave me pain meds because I was still in so much pain. They couldn’t find anything. They made me take a urine test and couldn’t find anything. The pain finally went away and they discharged me and they didn’t give me an exact idea of what happened or what caused my pain, but they treated me with respect and dignity and they took my pain seriously. Thank you, Summa Health.

Fast-forward to 2018 I just had my son and here I am in pain again for the same reason, the same days apart. This time was so much different than last time. So much different. I sleep in the nude. This is important to the story. I was also resting in a recliner in my living room my entire pregnancy and that’s where they found me. This is important to the story as well.

I’m screaming and hollering and in pain and cannot move. My youngest son’s father did not have any kind of urgency or showed any kind of empathy for my pain. My neighbors can hear me (I found this out later) and they did nothing. He leaves, takes his time even, on foot to find me some kind of relief. He’s gone for over an hour. He brings back these heat bags for your hands when it’s cold. Anything was better than nothing at this point. It didn’t work. I should have called the ambulance well before he left instead. I couldn’t call them when he left because there was no one to call to watch my newborn and two other children. So, I’m sitting in my recliner screaming in pain for over an hour. He calls 911 the fire department comes and they seem more annoyed and indifferent than he did, somehow.

Again, I have only a blanket covering me as I’m nude. He hands me my sleeveless nightgown and no one helps me put it on. I have to uncurl myself to get it on while in pain. “Alright Ms. Barnes, we’re going to take you downstairs now, can you stand?” I tell them no, I cannot. I’m in that much pain. My hair is all over my head and I have on this really thin ass nightgown with no sleeves. I mention to them and to him “I’m going to need my coat and boots as I am going to have to walk home.” I knew where they were taking me, they were taking me to the University Hospital of Twinsburg. I knew I was going to have issues. No one grabs my coat or my boots but he made sure I had my phone and breast pump. What?

“Do not hold your breath for anyone,
Do not wish your lungs to be still,
It may delay the cracks from spreading,
But eventually they will.
Sometimes to keep yourself together
You must allow yourself to leave,
Even if breaking your own heart
Is what it takes to let you breathe.”
–Erin Hanson

They hog-carry me down the steps and two parking-lots over to the ambulance with my ass out, my nightgown is barely covering me. The way they carried me made my pain worse. They lay me on the bed and put a blanket on me and off to hell on earth.

I arrive just 3 minutes up the street – by car – to one of the worst hospitals I’ve ever been to. They take one look at me and assume a drug user. They look at my skin and assume I was shooting up looking for drugs that or I was faking. Nah, those scars were from a very abusive childhood that never went away and will never go away. I have to live with that constant reminder every day of my life. I’m screaming and hollering and they’re telling me to shush. They went back and forth for over 30 minutes on whether I should have pain meds and they didn’t want to give me that. I explain to them why I’m there and they took their time with that.

They deduced after-birth and did a vaginal exam. The man who came in and did it didn’t even give me any modicum of dignity, didn’t bother closing the privacy curtains or anything. A very pregnant nurse who was assisting walked by smacked her lips rolled her eyes and closed the curtains. The guy examining me was so rough and unforgiving I wanted to kick him in the throat. He didn’t see anything and left. Another nurse came in and told me to pee in a cup.

“If we were to actually walk a mile in the other person’s shoes, there’s a good chance that we’d end up opting to live the rest of our lives walking barefoot.” –Craig D. Lounsbrough

They didn’t care if I was still in pain, they didn’t ask if I could walk. They gave me the cup and walked out. I took my piss test and that was it. I didn’t hear back from anyone until I overheard them ask the pregnant nurse “hey did you guys go in and explain what’s going on?” “Yea!” “Well, here’s her discharge papers, send her on her way.” No one came in and told me anything!

“Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength- carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” –Corrie Ten Boom

She asked me to sign my discharge papers. I signed them and explained to her my situation. I’m here, alone, with no shoes, coat, socks, or anything. It’s 33 degrees outside with no way to get back up the street. She asked me if there was someone who could come help me. “If there had been they’d be here with me right now,” I told her. She says, “well, there’s nothing I can do. Here are some socks and a blanket. Good luck.” She even said I could have an extra pair of thin ass hospital socks and that she’d “pray for me”. At that moment what I was feeling was this:

What?! Based on your own religion, your god put me in this situation. Free-will can’t be the cause and the solution, pick a lane. What exactly would that prayer do besides absolutely nothing?! Guess who’s about to get themselves home barefoot in the snow? Your god isn’t going to come down and walk next to me or for me. The amount of people who go through this life tossing out prayers to anyone who will listen is too damn high. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. It’s like the grocer who bags your groceries tell you to have a good day. That’s out of obligation, they don’t give two fucks about you having a good day. You’re another damn face that they want out of theirs.

If God is just, what in the fuck did I do to deserve that? Explain that shit to me. Give me a damn clue! God wasn’t there when I walked home. God wasn’t there when I was raped. God wasn’t there when I was molested FOR YEARS. God wasn’t there when I was being abused, neglected, and made to feel less than human. God wasn’t there when my own family had me jumped on several different occasions. Where was god when I was getting robbed? Where was God when my mom fell asleep holding a lit cigarette to my leg and was so strung out she didn’t wake up to my wails? Where was God when that very same woman was warm under blankets and I’m naked in a crib in the dead of winter and the window is open? Where was god when I was taken from my mom by a damn crackhead to my grandmother who was no better than her? Where was God when my mom kicked me down the steps when I was strapped in a fucking stroller?! Where was god when I had to watch someone put a gun to my grandmother’s head because her son in the next room over owed them money? Where was God when my ex-husband was abusing me? Where was he? Where was he? Where was he? Where the fuck was he?!?! Where was this just God? Watching? “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” is a sorry ass excuse to justify shit that happens. Just say “shit happens” instead of saying “God is in control” or “Satan is working hard”. God is to blame for satan too because instead of smiting his ass he keeps him around as a scapegoat?!!? WHAT?! Why couldn’t god be the bigger person and forgive Satan? Because god either doesn’t exist or doesn’t care and free-will is a “GET OUT OF JAIL FREE” card. I came into this world dead and had to be resuscitated because of all the drugs and alcohol that were in my system. Based on my geographical location, the [god – christ/Jesus. If this was the middle-east, it’d be Allah. Somebody’s wrong here. Even though THEY’RE BOTH RENDITIONS OF THE SAME DAMN ABRAHAMIC RELIGION!!] in question decided to bring me into this world already at a disposition. Let’s not even begin to talk about the moms who have to give birth to dead babies. What the hell did they have to do to deserve that? Nothing because the “good book” explains all that shit away.

“Pray for me”?! She could have just kept her mouth closed, it would have had the same result.

I was so angry when she said those 3 words to me that day I could spit fire. It was in the most patronizing and passive-aggressive tone. Now though? Whatever. I let it roll off my back like water on a duck.

They gave me a bag for my breast pump and phone. That was it.

I call my baby daddy at my apartment. I tell him, hey they’re saying they can’t help me get home. There’s nothing they can do. He says, “That’s BS, See what they can do. Call me back.” I’m floored at this point. He’s part of the reason why I don’t have these things. I don’t care about walking home, it’s the fact that I’m in nothing but a thin ass nightgown, hospital socks, and a damn blanket. That 4-minute ride here is a 15-20 minute walk back! I’m livid at this point. I grab my things and leave the ER.

“There are only two kinds of people who can drain your energy: those you love, and those you fear. In both instances it is you who let them in. They did not force their way into your aura, or pry their way into your reality experience.” –Anthon St. Maarten

I’m in the waiting room pacing back and forth. Hair all over my head. I’m crying at this point I’m so mad. The guy in the corner was looking at me like I’m crazy. I hate this place I remember saying to myself. I look outside and prepare for this cold ass walk home. It was 33 degrees that day. There’s ice, snow, and mud. The only sidewalk was the one leading up to the hospital after that there was nothing until I get over the freeway overpass and make it to Hadden Rd.

I walked home.

Guess what I saw when I walked in the door?

sigh

I opened the door, my daughter is sitting on the couch. My eldest son is standing next to my desk where the recliner is watching what’s on my screen. My newborn was rocking in his swing asleep. Baby daddy was reclined, with his arm behind his head watching ‘F is for Family’. The irony. I can’t even watch that show anymore. There was no urgency. He didn’t seem phased at all that I had to walk home or the possibility that I might have to. Mind you, I didn’t call him back. He didn’t show any signs of getting the kids together and walk to bring me my coat and boots at least. I stood at that door and broke down crying. I just couldn’t believe my eyes. He asked me if I walked; faking concern when he couldn’t care less. I lied and told him I got a ride home. I don’t know why I lied. I think it had a lot to do with his indifference to everything. I couldn’t deal with any more of it.

“That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end.” –Elizabeth Wurtzel

I gave birth to my son alone. I took his first minutes into the world photos with one hand. I ended up being in my hospital room with my newborn for two days before anyone came and seen me. That first night, I wept in the dark. Had I not been assertive, my hospital bag would have been still at my apartment. I wouldn’t have clean clothes, his clothes. Nothing. He ended up staying an extra day because he was still jaundiced and wasn’t urinating. I wasn’t producing enough milk to help him or for it to filter through his liver so they had to put him in the nursery with a blue light and a blanket wrapped around him.

“No amount of me trying to explain myself was doing any good. I didn’t even know what was going on inside of me, so how could I have explained it to them?” –Sierra D. Waters

He got a ride home from the hospital after I had my son when he finally came and visited me. He left with a box of my things and I find out later some of those things were stolen from me or given away. I ended up having to catch the bus home with the newborn in tow and my big ass duffel hospital bag along with my personal bag. It was cold as hell. I then get inside the house to find that he didn’t do anything he said he was going to do, like last time when I had my daughter. I don’t know why I expected anything different. He didn’t clean up anything and didn’t put the crib together like he said he would. He said he didn’t know how because there were no instructions. I end up having to put it together myself; luckily, the baby stayed asleep. He sat there and watched me put it together. Just like he watched me cry out in pain and watched them hog carry me down the steps with no coat or boots. I have no idea what I was being punished for, but something inside me broke.

I then turned around the next day after getting home from the hospital and went to court over my eldest son because his father was on some vindictive trash. It rained all those days I had to catch the bus for that. That point matters because I ended up having to take my newborn to Cleveland with me every. single. time. The ride alone to Akron is 45 minutes. I then had to wait 2 hours for the bus to Cleveland to arrive. That was another 45 minutes to get there. I then had to walk in the rain to the courthouse. The man who gave me his umbrella had more sympathy for a stranger than my own “fiancé” at the time did. I did all of that for him to decide that going to court was a waste of time and didn’t tell me he stopped going. He just had me going up there for him to be a no-show. All the money and time wasted…

“Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams healing can begin.” – Danielle Bernock

I want to stop thinking about this crap. It’s driving me crazy but no matter what I do, this feeling in my chest around this time for the past two years won’t leave!

On that walk home I spent a lot of time blaming myself, my anxiety, and my depression. I blamed myself because “had I got over my anxiety and depression, I’d have my driver’s license and my car.” What’s worse, people were looking at me like I escaped a loony bin. I felt lower than the dirty-ass chunks of snow I walked past on the freeway overpass I crossed to get home.

Aside from all the sadness and guilt I feel, I feel angry when I think about it and mostly due to the treatment I received from people whose oath was to “do no harm”.

“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.”  –Judith Lewis Herman

 

[Weight 2]

One of these days, something is going to scare me into getting up out of my seat and do something about this shit. – Me

Well, that day finally came, and it didn’t take long. It took a few episodes of ‘My 600lb Life’ to get me off my behind. I can’t imagine not being able to wash myself without help. I’m not anywhere close to how much they weigh but I like doing things myself and I refuse to make my kids be the burden of my own choices. That’s irresponsible AF.

I went to see a gastroenterologist. Apparently, at one point I was 280lbs. I forgot about that dark time in my life. I was extremely depressed, stuck in a dead-end relationship and wanted out. I ate to hide how I was really feeling. I buried myself in food to swallow what I really wanted to say to my [fiancé] at the time. That wasn’t healthy of course, but over time the weight fell off it seems because when they took my initial weight, I was 236lbs then down to 210lbs.

It’s been a little bit over a month since I went to see the gastroenterologist. I made an appointment to see a nutritionist and she gave me a lot of recipes and exercises I could do. I’ve been doing them. I’m under 193lbs now.

I’ve been walking more, eating better, thinking better. I’ve completely cut out fast food (I wasn’t eating that much of it before) and soda. I still can’t chase after my kids and keep up just yet but if I keep going, I’ll be able to catch up to them. I guess it would help when I’m playing tag with them, I’m not on grass.

So far, I’m enjoying my journey. What I was not expecting was sweets being disgusting. I tried drinking one of my kid’s Capri Sun’s and it was so sweet. My kids then offered me a Reese’s Cup the other day and I couldn’t eat it. I can’t look at fried food without gagging. I can only eat one proportionate sized meal a day and I cut that in half. I’m still snacking a great deal and I’m trying to cut back on that. I can taste the chemicals, (everything is a chemical of course) the processed ones in certain foods and drinks and that turns me off from those. There’s a lot of protein in my diet, because apparently that’s important. I learned a lot from my last couple of appointments that’s for sure.

My main issue I’m having with this journey is the new textures, smells and routine. I’ve made it where I eat every day around the same time. Take my medicine the same time every day. I don’t eat at night either. I need to work on my sleeping habits but I’m not watching television no more to sleep. It’s dark in my room, for the most part. I have to work on turning my brain off.

Next week, I’m off to the dentist. They’re going to get my smile together. I’m slowly but surely working on myself and trying to reverse everything depression and being in a shitty relationship did to me. I should have never let myself go like that; especially for someone I lowered my standards for. [Love]’s a bitch.

Now if I can just work on my diastasis recti so I can stop looking 7 months pregnant…

I’ve since had an update: [Weight 3]

[Blerd Bash Update]

My hair is messed up, but I had so much fun!

I had so much goddamn fun! I cried on the way home when it was over. I did not know how forgiving being in a place like that is. No one judged me. No one looked at me weird. I got to talk about video games, anime and play a few video games of my own. I got to sit and watch Twitch streams and not feel like I’m doing something wrong.

I felt like I was home. I can’t wait to come back to that next year. I want next year to be here already. I need to figure out what I’m going to wear next year.

There were so many times in the day though where I wanted to leave. Where I wanted to go home. I kept going back to my car. I was getting overstimulated quite a bit, but I stuck it out. Everyone was just so nice. Around 8 is when the families with their kids left to go because now, they were serving alcohol. They turned the Tekken Tournament section into a dance floor, and we line danced and had a good time. I wish I could do that every day.

I went alone but I wouldn’t change any of it for anything in the world. I had so much fun. I hope that’s not the only fun I have this year. I couldn’t stop smiling. I got so many compliments on my cosplay costume. I even got hit on by a bunch of people. I felt seen. I haven’t felt that way in such a long time. I made alterations to my cosplay costume, and it worked. I was afraid to take my costume apart, but it came out great. There was a lot of fear behind all of what I did but I told myself I was going to do something, and I did it.

I’m getting back to my old self. Making plans and following through. I can’t wait to see them again next year.

Thank you, H.A.G Entertainment. 

[2B or Not 2B] | Cosplay

My cosplay costume

It’s too short and it’s been a long time since I’ve used a sewing machine. I have no idea how I could make alterations to this. If I could I would sew some shorts inside of the skirt.

I couldn’t bend over in this if I wanted to. People would be able to see my tonsils. I have to figure something out. The thigh-high stockings are too tight and they roll down. That’s an easy fix.

[Blerd Bash]

I’m looking forward to Blerd Bash that’s happening in Parma on the 8th of April. I’m even dressing up in costume. I’ve never done something like this before but I’m stepping out of my comfort zone. There will be crowds, noise, weird smells and textures. I’m going to have on a costume so I can try and fit and or not stick out as much.

I’m going as 2B from Nier Automata. The sword came today. I’m still waiting on my costume and wig. I’m thinking about switching out her hair for an afro wig instead. I’m trying to make this my own style. So far, I’ve only seen pictures of people dressed up just like her but never tried to step outside of that. Either way, I’m going. And if I have to take the kids to that, I will. Noone is going to stop me from going.

I’m scared but that’s because it’s something new. I’m going to do my best to make sure everything goes smoothly as possible.

[“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”]

…
I can’t. I don’t want to.

I really, really don’t want to look at you now especially because you’re yelling at me. I don’t remember what you were yelling at me about because all I can focus on is how loud you are. Why must I look at you? Why does it matter where I look? Why are you so mean?

I remember asking these questions to myself growing up. I remember being hard on myself. “Why can’t I look at them? Is it because I hate them so much?” My [guardians] would become so irate when I was unable to look at them as they berate and belittle me. Somehow, I believe the abuse was worse because I had such a hard time standing still and looking at them. They would grab my face violently and stab their sharp pointy nails into my face when I wouldn’t look at them. They would then take their hand and palm my face to push me back so hard I’d fly across the room.

They would throw their shoes at me if I walked on my tippy toes. I taught myself to stop doing that. I wish they’d only throw shoes at me.

To adjust, to survive in that household, I forced myself to look at them. Over time I began to resent them. I began to look at them in their eyes not out of fear, but to remember what evil looks like. To wake up every day telling myself to never be like them when I grow up.

I ended up doing worse and being far worse off because of them. I ended up in abusive relationships. Looking for love in all the wrong places. Putting up with situations, people and words that the average person would have left long ago for. It’s hard not beating myself up over those things.

Although I’ve gotten better at looking at people, it’s still hard to do. Some people understand, and I’ve gotten to the point where I am not explaining who I am to people anymore. The right people will find me.

I just wish it was okay to be who I am in this world.

[8½ Years]

I was oblivious to you clocking out. One day, you decided to clock out and never return. For 8½, almost 9 years you saw me as nothing more than a tool to be used and then discarded when you were done with me. You couldn’t care less how I felt.

“It took years for me to get over you!”

Why did you stay? Why did you come back? Why did you cheat on me? Why did you hurt me with your words? Why did you break my heart? Why did you manipulate me? Why did you use me? Why did you steal from me? Why did you destroy my belongings? Why?

WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAVE?!

For most of those 8½ years I focused on making myself better for you. Doing things differently for you. I paid more attention. I edited myself. I spoke up when I needed to. I communicated. But with you, it all remained the same. You didn’t bother to change anything. Then you tell me, after 8½ years of being your fiancé, that you spent majority of those years “getting over me”.

I spent a lot of those years unhappy, blaming myself, afraid to even speak to you. I get back into therapy she told me to make amends, to not give up if that’s what my heart tells me to do. You then tell me I hurt you and you can no longer care about me. You mentioned the amount of effort you gave.

Ok.

You put in effort that you were willing to do. When I needed you most, you made excuses. You couldn’t even apologize. When it was time to hurt me, that’s where the effort went. When I really needed you most. To keep from hurting, from walking home in the cold with no boots, socks, or a coat, you were nowhere to be found. When I had to catch the bus home after having my son, I then had to put the crib together. I had to deal with our miscarriage alone. I dealt with birthing our children alone, which for one, you were in the room for. You couldn’t even hold my hand and tell me “You got this. I got you!”. I’ve been alone for a long time. That much is true.

I guess your pain is valid, but I’ve never hurt you like you’ve hurt me. I’ve never cheated on you. I’ve never demeaned you. I’ve never made you feel stupid. I’ve never left you out. I never lied about how I felt. I never manipulated you. I never gaslighted you. I did my best to be there for you. I supported you the best way I could. I never once woke up any day of our relationship and decided to make your life a living hell. I never went out of my way to harm you with words in all those 8½ years. I spoke my piece because deep down I knew my feelings weren’t wrong. I knew how I was being treated but I kept trying. I was trying.

The only reason you wanted to marry me was so you could have the same [rights] my ex-husband has with his child. All you had to do was file the paperwork with the courts. That doesn’t require you to marry me. “It took years for you to get over me”, but just last year you were looking at rings. Seriously?

The pain in my heart from the realizations is going to take a long time for me to get over, but I’ll get over it and be better for it.

You gave up years ago.

I wish you would have let me go.

[Weight]

I want to laugh but if I laugh it’ll just turn into uncontrollable sobbing. I refuse to shed another tear. I’ve been in and out of the hospital most of my life. I wanted to say for the better part of 2 years but that’s not accurate. Doctors was talking to me about my probability of certain illnesses since I was 15, but alas.

I’m trying to lose weight but it’s not going anywhere. My nutritionist told me to expect this. I fasted. I starved myself. I walked. I ran. I exercised. I almost prayed but I’m not that desperate. I’ve researched. I’ve cried. I’ve gotten frustrated with myself. I’ve gone into denial and back out of it.

Nothing.

I’m sitting here thinking of my journey and I chuckled. When I was much younger, I thought I was fat. My family decided that on top of PTSD, I needed to have issues with my body as well. I thought that tiny, insignificant ass little pudge made me “fat”. If me right now could go back and stand in front of me of the past I’d laugh. I’d run so far away from the actual fat me that I wouldn’t have met my now ex-husband and my ex-fiancé.

I would probably still be skinny.

The baby weight fell off of me when I had my middle child but with my youngest, my weight is hanging around like a bad habit. Then again, I wasn’t driving or staying home as much. I also was walking and moving more.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve gone back to the stationary life that had me sitting in a nutritionist offi – I take that back, that’s not the only reason. I was incredibly physically sick at one point, and I almost jumped off a freeway overpass one weekend I didn’t have the kids.

shh..

Anyway, I’m better now and I’m no longer attempting to take my life at opportune times. That was a long time ago and I thought my diagnosis – that I’m not mentioning here – was a death sentence. That was my mind’s irrational overthinking taking over rational, logical thought, as usual.

I’m frustrated with my weight. I’m also at a loss because I know I only have so many years left before this is just how I’m going to look until that old people spread take over. Then again, I’m 35 and it’s too late. Well, in my mind it’s too late because it takes nothing to sit here and stay out the fucking way.

I want to justify my stationary life, but I also want to get up and do a few jumping jacks. I used to run track. I never thought my ass would go from a 135 to 210. I would laugh if someone said that shit to me. My weight is pissing me off but not enough to get up and actually do anything.

One of these days, something is going to scare me into getting up out of my seat and do something about this shit.

Today is not that day.

Here’s an update [Weight 2]

[C-PTSD]

The sudden anger. The deer caught in headlights feeling. The frustration. All of the feelings that come flooding in after getting caught up in place that no longer exists.

It puts me in a funk for the rest of the day.

Every single time it always feels like I’m there. It’s always at the kitchen sink. It never fails. It’s been almost 20 years now.

• Caused by long-term, repeated trauma.
• Typically arises from childhood experiences.
• Often occurs in those who have endured racism and oppression.
• Usually more severe than PTSD. 

Although the concept of C-PTSD is longstanding, it is not in the fifth edition of the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders” (DSM-5), and therefore isn’t officially recognized by the American Psychiatric Association (APA).

Although C-PTSD comes with its own set of symptoms, some believe the condition is too similar to PTSD (and other trauma-related conditions) to warrant a separate diagnosis.

 As a result, the DSM-5 lumps symptoms of C-PTSD together with PTSD. [x]

I have been on every antidepressant known to man and nothing has worked. My [insurance] won’t cover psychotherapy so I’m shit out of luck there. The only thing I know that works is to tell myself to stop it.

Stop it, Lee! Cut that shit out! You’re not there anymore! They can’t hurt you anymore! Stop going back there! Every time you go, you get stuck. The more you get stuck the longer you’re there. Let it go!

It works about 95% of the time. The rest of the time I’m mad for no reason or sad for no reason or upset for no reason or tired for no reason or depressed for no reason or anxious for no reason…

The only time I’m fine is when I’m listening to music. I rely on music so much that when I’m stressed out my brain automatically plays a verse from a random song in my head until it drives me nuts. No matter what I do it only goes away when it’s ready to.

I’m looking forward to having a different perception of life.