A Picture's Worth a 1000 Pounds

I try to avoid having my picture taken when I think I'm fat, but tonight I was carving a pumpkin for a contest at work and a co-worker took my picture.  I thought I was going to cry.  My arms look like big pink pillow cases full of cookie dough.

That's all.

Baby Steps

Little victories give me hope in this body full of despair.

I had to stop and get gas this morning before work and hadn't eaten breakfast, so I got a diet Sierra Mist, a protein bar, a sandwich and some pineapple.  I ate the protein bar in the car and felt full, but I had the urge to grab the sandwich and eat that too, but I resisted.  I didn't eat it until I was starving.
I'm hungry again now, and should have my pineapple, but I'm elbow deep in pumpkin, trying to defend my first place title for the competition here at work.

Piss and Shit

I'm just going to make this a running post.  Noting shit as I go through the day.

So far this day has been stupid.  I got up at 11:40, put on my wraps and gloves and made an attempt at working out.  I was going to do it last night but I went to bed early.
I barely got my heart rate up and didn't even break a sweat before I just felt like quitting.  Usually I work through that feeling, but I've been depressed all week and it just wasn't happening for me.  Also my back and shoulder hurt from falling asleep on the couch and I could barely throw a punch.  I opted for some half assed stretching, then just laid on the floor until 12:40.  I got in the shower, laid around some more after, and left for work late.
I'm sure this depressed and lethargic feeling is because I haven't had my estrogen or thyroid in a couple of weeks.  I finally got them called in and just took my thyroid.  Estrogen should be ready tomorrow.

Everything at work is pissing me off.  EVERYTHING.  Walking in the door I automatically felt mad.  I wish I had some booze.
I checked my email and saw this stupid new procedure we're all supposed to follow, saying something like, "it's absolutely imperative that troubleshooting done through the chat client is now copied and pasted in your tickets."
What the fuck for???  We're here for 2 more months, and the Arkansas guys barely put any notes in their tickets.  This is just pointless fucking busy work so Julie (my supervisor) can look like she's actually doing something productive.  Plus, I always swear in chat and bad mouth the company and our products.  Now I can't and that irritates me.

A little later on I hear Drew, one of the other techs and the most manipulative bully I've ever met, telling one of the senior techs that a customer's service won't work because there are loads on the pair.  (That's just DSL talk, so nevermind what it means).  Drew just kept going on and on about what needed fixed in the field.  I kept thinking, "you have no idea you stupid fucker, when have you ever done install-repair shit?"
Eventually my other supervisor, Dan, told Drew that's not at all how it worked.  Dan used to be a local area manager and handled all the IR stuff.  Drew goes, "oh, well, I didn't know that."
THAT'S RIGHT YOU INSUFFERABLE OAF, YOU DIDN'T KNOW, SO KEEP YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH SHUT.

Then Julie comes over to my desk to ask me if I'm attending the 2 day resume seminar.  I looked at her and said, "whatever, no, I'm not.  I don't need you or this place to tell me how to do a resume."  And I don't.  That's what my older sister is for.  She's better and more helpful than anyone else, and she knows me.
So EAT SHIT Windstream.

After that I got a call from this lady named Sheryl that's in charge of some resale service we have in Montezuma.  None of those customers are in our ticketing system and we don't have access to any of their equipment, so I had sent a message to the engineers upstairs through chat.  Drew saw my chat and comes over and says, "Sheryl should be able to help you with any Montezuma problems."  So I say "yeah, I know, I'm on the phone with her."  Then he says, "she should have all the shelf and port information in front of her if you need that stuff."  So again, I'm like, "yeah, I know, the port isn't the issue."  Like a jackass, he keeps pushing, and says "well what is the problems then?"  Finally I just muted my phone and said "do you know how to fucking butt out???"  He waddled back over to his cubicle and left me alone after that.  Moron. Stay the fuck away from me.

When All of Your Wishes Are Granted, Many of Your Dreams Will Be Destroyed

I'm sitting here at work, bored out of my skull.  Since most stuff has been moved over to Windstream in Arkansas, there's just not much to do.  The occasional escalated ticket or static order comes through, but mostly this job is just wasting my time.  I want to go back to school for mortuary science, but school feels daunting and starting a new job feels daunting.  All of these descriptions are so specific.  "Looking for a self starter," "looking for a highly motivated individual."  Blah blah BLAH.
I guess it's important to remember that these ads are bullshit.  They should read, "looking for some poor bastard to show up and get paid to be miserable."  Buzz words.  Nothing but buzz words.
I'm trying to figure out my life and I just feel confused and goddamn aggravated.
How the hell am I supposed to live?  Pay my bills?  Pay my rent?  Get my meds?
So I'm depressed and tired.

I remember having this crisis when I graduated college.  I get really annoyed when I'm not allowed to buck the system and have my way.  Give me my pills for free.  Have rich celebrities pay off my student loans, my car, and my credit card.  Do it.  Do it NOW.
I'm also dragging ass at work.  I had the flu a week or so ago and am still fighting it.  I have a raging sinus headache so I took some Nyquil.  I didn't have anything else in my desk, so I'm dozing off in front of my screen.
So.... I'm pissed off, tired, and feeling hopeless.

The Wedding Singer

In my last post I think I talked about my conflicting hate and compassion I feel toward my dad.

After Tawny's wedding on Saturday my aunt came up to me sobbing.  This was at the reception so I was embarrassed.  She told me Dad went home crying and that I needed to call him.  Being an idiot I went outside and called him.  Bastard used up all my minutes.  I asked him why he wasn't at the reception, supporting his niece.  He went off on this rant, saying that we all made it perfectly clear we didn't want him there.  I reminded him that I was very welcoming, so was Squirt. 
He started going on about how Squirt couldn't keep her mouth shut, and how she probably has crabs and is spreading them all over Chicago.  I felt like I was going to puke.  Then he kept on, saying all his misery was Mom's fault, and that if she'd kept HER mouth shut, they'd still be together, and that when he punched her he didn't even leave a mark.  I was there asshole, I saw the goddamn bruise. 
I hung up.  He was pissing me off and wasting all my minutes. 
I used to be terrified of him.  When I got to high school I picked fights with him.  On one occasion he told me to get out of the goddamn house and sleep in the barn.  My mom was pulling on my arm, trying to keep me calm, but I said, "why don't you get off your fat ass and make me you sack of shit?"  I think he was so shocked he ended up just dropping it. 
Now.....  I don't confront him, I don't really mouth off, I just try to keep the peace.  I don't know why it's hard for me to say, "you bruised her you asshole, you scarred her for life, and if you ever talk about Squirt like that again I'll shove a rattlesnake up your ass."  It's what I was thinking for crying out loud. 

Anyway, I went back into the reception but was pissed off, so Squirt and her boyfriend Nick and I left.  When we got to Mom's condo, Squirt said she couldn't go back to Chicago with animosity, so she got in her car to go over to Dad's.  Nick offered to go with her, and I wanted to go as well, with my overactive protective thing I've got going on.  She wouldn't let us go with her, so Nick and I went up to the condo and sat.  I started to pace and sent Tyne a text, telling her Squirt went over to Dad's by herself and I didn't feel good about it considering all the shit he was saying to me on the phone about her.  When Mom and Tyne and B-Rye got back from the reception, Mom and I went over to Dad's to make sure everything was alright.  They were sitting at the table talking when I got there, so that horrible sick feeling that I had went away.  I stayed with her until we left, Mom went home at Dad's request. 
The talk involved the usual bullshit.  Squirt called him out on lying, he backpedaled, then said he was trying to change, but you can't believe a word he says.  Ever.  

When I got back to Des Moines I ran around the apartment, cleaning, organizing, feng shui'ing.  I felt ill but I couldn't stay still.  Eventually I binged on mac and cheese and went to bed. 

I need to watch it today since I binged, but that shouldn't be too hard since I still have this worked up sick feeling.  I'm going to give myself some leeway here since I had to deal with all that asshattery.

Into the Lion's Den

This has been a helluva week.  It's not over yet.

My boyfriend's grandfather died.  He'll be leaving for Illinois for the funeral on Monday.  I felt bad for him so I did something I never do, which is bow to domestication and make him dinner.  I think I did a great job.  Homemade mac and cheese, (recipe from Alton Brown), burgers I made with beef and a packet of onion soup mix, fresh cornbread, and some cookies, as well as an expensive bottle of POM Wonderful.  I can identify with losing a loved one, but I have a hard time saying the right things, so I try to make up for this inadequacy by buying things for the person, or in this case, cooking and a foot rub.

When we were eating my awesome home cooked meal, I kept thinking of this weekend, my cousin's wedding, and the crazy family I'd have to see.

After lunch I was supposed to head straight to Grinnell so I could work on the set for the high school, but I laid on the couch and went to sleep.  I woke up at 4, panicked, got in the shower, then drove like a bat out of hell to Grinnell.  I feel bad for not painting since I told Mike I would, but I felt kinda depressed about having to see Dad, and I felt depressed for Nathan.  Science knows I escape through sleep.

Tyne and I had a nice rehearsal, although this 2 year old was crawling all over me and I ended up with her on my lap and then had to help her go potty.  I think my hatred of children has diminished a bit since I know I can't have any.
After rehearsal I saw my dad walk in.  I barely recognized him.  He's lost a TON of weight and he seemed like just a wisp compared to the hulking beast I used to be terrified of.
I gave him a hug and said hi, but my older sister was cold to him.  My big and little sisters aren't speaking to him due to an altercation involving booze and my aunt's face getting pulverized.

There were some raised voices at one point, when Tyne said she didn't want to talk about anything during the rehearsal, as this day is supposed to be about my cousin.  Dad got kind of loud and said, "fine, if that's the way you want to be about it, I don't give a shit."  I try to be the buffer for everyone that doesn't get along.  I've done it since I was little.  I want everyone in the family to get along.
Later I went over to his place and actually had a fun time talking with him, my aunt, and my pseudo uncle.  I ended up staying 2 hours, which was bad for my lungs, since they all chain smoke, but good for them I think, since they are sad, lonely, damaged people.
My sister was pissed at me for spending so much time over there, but..... it's complicated.  It's so goddamn complicated.

I remember all the shit he did, I remember the bruise on my mom's face the day we left to move in with my uncle Tom, I remember my burning hatred and my quiet move to get a baseball bat before Mom came down to tell me to pack up.  Dad had fallen asleep on the couch after he punched her and this left him vulnerable to a bludgeoning.  Alas, I was scolded and told to get moving, so his head remained in tact.
 
The time I spent growing up with him turned my fear into hostility.  I was always terrified of his temper when I was little.  As I got older, I got more pissed off, and he didn't seem so big and scary anymore.  Close to the time of the divorce I would pick fights with him.  I wanted to fight him.  I don't know if I wanted him to beat the shit out of me, because his attention would be drawn from my mom and sisters, or if I wanted to beat the shit out of him.  A little of both I think.  It may sound strange, but if you've ever grown up with abuse, you may know what I'm talking about.  After the divorce I just nursed my ire and didn't interact with him for 2 years.  When he'd call I'd simply say, "burn in hell," and hang up the phone.
So these memories haven't gone anywhere.  Some of them I've repressed, but I know, damnit.  I know.

I had this long talk with my mom in the bathroom about why I go over there still, (the best place to have long discussions is ALWAYS the bathroom).  I still go over and see him.  I'm nice to him.  Despite everything, I'm nice to him.
I spent 2 hours there, which was why my sister was pissed.  My mom called a couple of times just to make sure I was alright.  I was fine, but there's not a good history of me or my sisters going over there for whatever reason.  One Thanksgiving a couple years ago my little sister went over and my dad pulled out a gun.  She freaked out and left.  Also there was the time I was picking a fight with my bigoted grandfather, called him a motherfucker, and he tried to punch me.  Strangely enough, my dad was defensive and threw a punch at him to keep him away from me.  I thought I'd get beaten for doing that, later at home, but my dad was more angry with my grandpa for trying to hit one of his kids.

This...... this is where all this complication comes from.  My friends and a lot of my family don't understand why I go over there.  I feel torn.  I feel hate, such intense hate.  But it's marbled with pity and understanding.

Mom and I were discussing the complication of emotion and logic trying to inhabit the same brain, my brain.
When I think of my dad, I first and foremost think of all the bad shit he's ever done to me, and the people I care about.  Then I kind of drift off and think about what he must feel now.  He's lost everything.  His wife, his kids, his job, his friends.  He did it to himself, but it's all gone.  He has nothing but pills now.  I understand the feeling of being high on pain killers.  I went through it when I was taking Tylenol 4 before my surgery.  I'd be having a shitty day at work, I would have horrible cramping pain, so I'd pop a pill and get that wonderful feeling.  You don't feel the pain anymore, but you also get high.  Suddenly the bad day seems not so bad and you kind of feel like you love everyone.  Until it wears off, everything is okay.  When it does wear off, you want another one.  So I understand.  I get it.
What I wasn't completely understanding is why he would need to seek out pain pills so young.  He didn't get addicted after the divorce, he got addicted when he was in his 20's.
So I said this to Mom.  She started talking about the way he grew up.  My grandma tried her best, and my satanic grandpa tried his best.  Although I'm pretty sure he didn't.  My grandpa grew up with a family that essentially ignored him.  Something about a twin in the family was killed, and after that he was left to fend for himself since the others in the family were grief stricken... or something.  Bottom line is, he had no support, no love.  He ends up passing this onto my dad and aunt.  My aunt was spoiled, and my dad was ignored.  He was never encouraged, was often beaten, and on top of it all, had undiagnosed bipolar disorder.  I knew some of this story, but Mom kinda spelled it out a little more for me, and suddenly I could see why pain killers would be such a relief.
Throw a burgeoning family into the mix, a stressful job, and a surmounting mental disorder, and you've got the makings of a terrifying, abusive father.
If I just go back far enough and look at the big picture...... I can't help but feel pity.  Shit happened to me, shit happened to my mom and sisters, but we overcame it.  He was never able to overcome it.  My grandpa couldn't overcome it.  These are mentally ill, lonely people, looking for an escape.  There is a serious vein of weakness in my family, but there's an equally large vein of strength. Some of us have managed to live normal lives.  We are the strong ones.

So I'm sitting with my mom, in the bathroom still, and I just start to cry.  Not really bawling or anything, just crying.  And I say, "I can't place all the blame and all my hate on him, when he's lost everything he loves, and is left with pills.  He did it to himself, but I think he had a little help from the people that raised him.  If I can go over there occasionally, and make his day a bit brighter, maybe there's a tiny bit of hope for him, and for me as I try to heal from his abuse and conquer my emotional eating.  Maybe."

If you talk to my dad now, he has a bit of a crazy look in his eyes.  You can tell something isn't right with him.  It's in the way he interacts with people.  He is the epitome of selfishness.  Talking with him tonight, he just talked nonsense.  He went on about how doctors told him he was a miracle, because during his heart surgery they witnessed an artery healing itself, right there on the operating table.  And that he'd been in the American Journal of Medicine three times since doctors keep writing about how he spontaneously regenerates.  He told me we're related to some woman who had showdowns with Jesse James, and out shot him every time.  He said he was good friends with Jim Belushi.  He told me he's best friends with the owner of the largest funeral home in Iowa when I mentioned my interest in mortuary science. He rambled on about all these famous people he was friends with.  It was the spewings of a man that has repressed all things having to do with reality.  His reality is so painful, so tragic, that he has just chosen not to recognize that that's his situation.  He was talking about a new motorcycle he bought, and how he was making some modifications to it.  He was doing this in a large garage where a lot of guys work on their cars, and he said to me, "I am a GOD to them."
That phrase sort of says it all.  Hell, if my life were hopelessly tragic and lonely, I would probably develop a fantasy world where I am friends with rich and famous people, and they all worship me.  He is insane.  But I think he's insane for a good reason.  I don't think it's much different than people trading in their current realities to play WOW, or even Farmville.  "My real farm is sitting outside, but I like this farm better."  Or that couple from the news that had a newborn baby they neglected until it died.  They neglected it because they were online, raising a simulated baby.

This is why I talk to him.  This is why I am kind to him now.  I can see him as a weak, broken man.  Even if it's self made, I can understand.  I'm the only real, tangible thing he's got left now.  To abandon him would make me a monster, and I can't stomach that.

Geezy Creezy

I'm bored at work.  Nothing really challenging to do or think about.  Maybe my desire to go to school for mortuary science is a better idea than I thought.  I would be challenged and would have things on my mind other than snacking.  Arteries and veins and chemicals and biohazards and mortality.  Yeah, I think this may be a good idea.

Clavicles

I just went to the restroom here at work and realized, while washing my hands, that I can't see my collar bones anymore.  My collar bones are one of my favorite parts of my body.  My hair, teeth, calves, and collar bones.  My hair and teeth remain the same, but my collar bones have nearly disappeared and I've noticed some cellulite on my calves. I am taking a deep breath.  A big, deep breath.  Little steps.  Don't freak out.  It will take time.  Give it time.  Lots of time.  Why does it have to take so long??  I feel so disgusted with myself right now.  I just want to wrap myself in a tarp and give up on trying to look nice.  Or maybe get a hijab so people can only see my eyes.  My eyes are relatively attractive, I think.

I've done alright today.  I had some fiber one cereal and 2 mini peanut butter cups.  I felt kinda hungry a while ago so I had a Kashi Go Lean fiber and protein bar.  I'm sipping water and diet cherry Pepsi right now, thinking about my missing collar bones.  They're under there.  I hope to see them again someday.  I feel like a parent with a kidnapped child.  I should make a plea on a local television station.  Please bring my collar bones home!

Fat Isn't Cheap

I realized tonight I have a couple weddings to go to in the next couple of weeks.  This has thrown me into a panic.  The first wedding is for my cousin.  I will be singing with my big sister, in front of everyone I know.  I already have imagined what each of them will be saying.  "Oh my god, look at Tiffini, she's gotten so big." With the exception of my dad and grandpa before he became a rotting corpse, my family is very supportive and would never actually say those things to me, but that doesn't stop me from feeling that way.

I took to the internets to find some clothes.  I've been buying them in spurts since I essentially have had to replace my entire wardrobe with bigger clothes.  Bras, underwear, work clothes, jeans..... EVERYTHING.  It is mother fucking expensive.  I'm not the most fashionable person in the world, but I know what I like, and some of the stuff on these plus size sites is just awful.  God awful.  The stuff that is pretty cute is so much money.  I'm embarrassed at how much money I've put on my credit card buying clothes that will fit my bulbous figure.  I almost had a heart attack when I saw my credit card statement.  How funny and tragic that would have been.  Tiffini, dead of a heart attack caused by the shock of seeing the bill for her fat clothes.  Poor dear would have died from heart disease anyway.
So now I'm looking for ways I can bring a little more money in.  Selling some of my artwork, maybe a part time job, perhaps turning tricks for the chubby chasers out there.

The hardest part about all of this is, the second wedding I have to go to is for a friend of my boyfriend.  He wants his friends and family to meet me.  I would like to look nice.  I would like his friends and family to look at me and think, "oh wow, what a beautiful girl, Nathan has really done well for himself."  I am terrified the opposite is going to happen.  They all wonder what this nice young man is doing with a curly haired whale.  What is she doing out of the water?  Should someone alert Sea World?  Is there a marine biologist in the house???
I know that he loves me and is crazy about me, but I don't feel good about my body, and I can't get passed this feeling that he has to settle for a blob with a nice personality.  I worry about sex.  Is it good for him?  He says it is, but I can't help noticing the cellulite on my thighs when my legs are in the air, or the way my ass and my belly wiggle in the throws of passion.  It's embarrassing.  Way more embarrassing than talking about it on here.  Is he wishing I were someone else?  Are these just pity fucks?  Or desperation lays?  After growing weary of jerking off, the move is made on the pudgy girlfriend.  She'll be better than the hand at least for tonight.
Please, PLEASE don't think these are things he's said to me.  He's only ever given me the impression that he loves me and loves having sex with me, fat or no fat, and that he thinks I am beautiful.  These thoughts are my own insecurities, clawing their way from my toes, up to my mind so they can grow in the sunlight.  Nasty little fuckers. 
I will occasionally ask for reassurance on my looks, but I try not to do it too much.  How obnoxious to have an insecure girlfriend constantly begging for compliments.  I always avoid the trap questions, like, does this make my butt look big.  I already know my ass is fat, I don't need someone to lie to me and say, "oh no, you look like a supermodel."  Whatever.  We all know that's a lie.

Right now I'm trying to overcome this feeling that I might as well not even try to look presentable.  I see very well groomed fat women all over the place, and I think they look great in their fat chic clothes and cute hairstyles and makeup.  Why are they different from me?  They look amazing, but in regards to myself, I don't see how makeup will help at all.  It may make my face look pretty, but what is it doing for my grotesque  hips?  I need to go get a bikini wax, but what does it matter that my lady bits are groomed and sexy if right above them is a stretched out, sweaty fat roll?  Why should I style my hair?  Why should I paint my nails?  Why should I even shower when I wake up?  I'll still be obese that day, and that's all I can notice, even if the rest of the world thinks this grooming makes me look sharp.