50. Half a decade. Nine days till it's been 18,250 days since I've been on this planet.
It's looming like the mothership hovering over Devil's Tower in Close Encounters of The Third Kind.
LOOMING.
And it' "ear-roding EAR-roding" my sense of self-esteem, self-confidence and self-preservation.
Why? Because I am overweight and I have a son who needs me to be healthy because I'm all he has. And about 40 billion other reasons that will bore people to death because everyone will say "yup, been there, done that. Movin' forward."
But let me tell you about being overweight (althought I am sure bazillions of women will read this and go, yup, check, have that, see that, ewww that).
I am 5-7. I weigh 191 pounds. There, I said it. And I don't give a shit anymore who reads that and says OMG PAULA IS A FREAKING MOOSE!
Bite me.
The Spanx hide the weight really well. And given that I have this amazing center of gravity below my 40Cs and above my thighs, that is the center of all the weight. That's the only reason I remain upright.
I can, however, still see my feet. I've never not been able to. I suppose that counts for something.
But after a three-month 60 pound weight loss during the summer of 2010 which left me even more sagging that I had been prior, I put 30 pounds of it back on in one year. Whether it was my age kicking in, my hormones being totally fucked up or that I moved into a new home and got comfortable because my son and I were safe from the monsters who nearly killed us in 2010, I don't know.
But last night was a wake up call. Something happened - well, Facebook revealed one its secrets in such a completely random coincidential manner - and this "secret" threw me for a loop. Jesus, it's one thing with the ring. It's another thing about the white pants.
And I spent the night assessing and re-assessing years gone by, the last six in particular that I've been the ultimate "giver" and finally decided that the next 50 years belong to me and I am going to become a taker.
But in a good way. I'm taking my dignity (what's left of it) and going to attempt to channel it upwards into what I hope to be a future of good health, sound mind (well, maybe because people already tell me I am certifiably off my rocker and I LAUGH because it's a compliment to me) and a body that when I look at it in the future, I would go "ewww, I'm gross" or have to stretch out my arms in front of me so that the tractor tires on my back will even out when I am bent over and getting screwed from behind, and I won't have to put a pillow under me when I am in same position because the rolls on my back are being evened out from my arms being stretched out in front of me but leaving my hanging sagging belly fat to dance to its own tune.
You get the ewwww picture. But really? Overweight women are truly creative when it comes to manuevering to a position to cause less jiggle, less tire action, etc. I'm tired of doing that. I want to focus solely on my self and not be bombarded with negative thoughts about how I look from behind, or the front, or sideways or from a distance.
And this is just about being naked. Wait till I write about me and clothes. The above-mentioned brings out the eww factor in me. I hate being naked. I hate taking a bath, I hate taking a shower. It has nothing to do with being clean because I'm a freak when it comes to that.
I just hate the way my body looks, what it has become and the fact I have to "hide" it from the world because it's the bane of my existence, the harpoon in my side 24/7/365.
I can blame it a bit on pregnancy from 12 years ago because I was horrified beyond all comprehension when I stepped back and looked at myself after I had my son. I could not believe what happened to my body. And it's been downhill ever since.
I hit rock bottom last night. That "secret" on Facebook just made me shake my head and go, that's it. I'm done. Time to get off my ass.
I'm not going to "diet" but I am going to change the way I eat. I am a stress smoker but I stopped that about 10 days ish ago. Cold turkey. Done it before a million times. But each time I look at my son, I have to convince myself that I can't smoke - at all.
And no smoking means more hunger and more hunger means emotional eating. Been there done that, too.
That's gotta stop.
Writing keeps my hands busy. It passes time that I otherwise would be foraging for food in my kitchen and eating for no apparent reason at all.
It doesn't change overnight. It's a mindset first. I have to want to change. I can't float along like a bottle on the ocean with a note it that says "rescue me" and hope someone finds it and does same.
That's for fairy tale fanatics.
This is real life, real time, right now.
50 is NOT an even number unless you divde it by 5 and get 10 and that's an even number.
10 pounds at a time. 10 pounds for each year I've been alive.
50 pounds to shed on this soon-to-be 50 year old single parent.
So maybe the sags might be more saggy but the rolls will remain on the bread shelves at the supermarket and not on me anymore. My legs are actually nice and my tattooed butt isn't too bad.
Duct tape (ohhh they have colored duct tape now) will most definitely help. But damn, I bet it will hurt peeling it off. Instead breast lift ha ha ha ha ha. OUCH.
Seriously: Humor and laughter have gotten me through the worst of times. So I LAUGH in the face of of the enormous task ahead of me (removing five albatrosses hanging around my neck) and regaining my self-esteem and self-esteem so that the next 50 years will be productive, healthy happy ones for me and for my son because really when push comes to shove - nothing else matters to me as a mom.
Movin' forward ......
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