Friday, May 12, 2017

I know I should probably add titles to these posts, but it feels like such a chore to think of something clever. Anyway, blah blah blah, blogging finally, blah, life, blah, etc.

Now that we've gotten my lack of blogging out of the way, let's move on to some more boring shit that I rehash every year, that never goes away, that just sticks around like so much dog shit stuck to a shoe.

My weight. My battles.

You can stop reading now if you want.

Since I started this blog in 2009 (fucking christ), I have posted numerous things about my morbid obesity and the lengths that I have gone to shed the extra weight. Sometimes funny, sometimes serious, sometimes at the point of being critically ill (thanks you fucking piece of shit lap band), I have put it out there for people to read and commiserate and pick up info (because I will never not stop speaking out about how dangerous and potentially deadly the lap band can be).

So here is another part of my journey. I am sick. Not mentally (although that is another issue for another day), but physically. I've been denying a lot of health issues for more than a year now, with the flippant, "Well, my blood tests are fine, I'm just fat and have high blood pressure."

It's not so true anymore.

It started with my lower back last year that caused so many damned problems. It's spreading to my knees (hello, crackly right knee) and ankles and neck and anywhere else that has to deal with carrying the extra baggage. It's manifested in potential heart issues and an extra blood pressure pill. I'm tired all the time. I don't want to do anything that involves leaving the house because I feel gross, physically and mentally.

I'm 37 now. I've been battling my weight since I was a little girl, and I've only had one successful stint of dropping a massive amount of lard and living healthy for a year or two. I know what I should be doing. I know what would help. But for reasons I can't quite identify, I don't do those things. I know I have binge eating issues. I know I'm about as active as a sloth on a hot day. However, I cannot snap my mind out of it. I have no idea why. Depression? Anxiety? Panic? I don't know.

So begins the start of another cycle of trying to snap myself into getting healthy. I joined Weight Watchers yesterday. I've done it before and it worked, but like everything else, I gave up on it after a few months. Seems easier this time though. Maybe because they use a points system now. Maybe because I spent actual fucking money and value my bank account now, parting with any part of it makes want to stick with the plan. Maybe because I can be competitive as hell and saw that some girl lost like 140 pounds on it and I want to be that person.

I also feel like this is my last attempt at trying to get my life on track. Like if this doesn't work, then I'm done and might as well put in for a plus sized body bag and grave. I shouldn't feel like that. I should be working my ass off to get healthy. I just feel so apathetic though and I fucking hurt all the time and I'm scared. Of what? I have no clue.

Perhaps my mind is more broken than I thought.

Perhaps I'm just a lazy sack of crap.

Yeah, probably that.

Onwards, bitches.

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