The Pot of Gold at the End of the Rainbow is Never What We Imagine it Will be
Two major things happened this last weekend and while I should be writing these in some personal diary and not sharing them with the entire world, I chose to detail them here because this is where I come when I have something important to record for myself.
On Friday the 13th, (this is somehow ironic in a sad and funny way), Michael broke up with me permanently. I stress permanently because this time there is no turning back. It is truly over and I've come to accept that, and as you will see in a moment, I am happier for it. But even so, I was heartbroken for the first 36 hours. I didn’t understand what happened. One minute he is telling me he wants to hold me, the next he tells me to just be done with him. What did I do to provoke this, you ask? I merely stated my dissatisfaction with the lack of time we were spending together. His weekend is on Thursday and Friday. I asked Wednesday what he was doing those two days. He never mentioned spending time with me, he didn’t ask me to do anything, and he just stated he needed to see what was going on. We hadn’t spent time together since Sunday. I was upset and (I realize later on) rightfully so. Rather than let me express my feelings (which did not include anger), he told me he would speak to me later (always, always delaying anything important that needs to be discussed in the belief that it will simply go away). I had had enough of that kind of treatment. I told him that I was tired of having a boyfriend who didn’t make time for me and didn’t seem to want me around very often. He only wanted me when it was completely convenient for him. He is very used to getting his way and doing everything according to his rules. Looking back I realized we had some very stupid fights over the last 5 months. Like the one about watching football all day when I thought we were going out together somewhere for the day. I don’t dislike football, I was just angry that he assumed and carried out his plan of what was going to happen that day, NO EXCEPTIONS. Our fights always had the underlying theme (that he never seemed to catch on to and correct) of selfishness, usually but admittedly not always on his part. He was used to being alone, having his bed all to himself, his house, his time… everything imaginable. And he was very good at controlling everything around him. It was almost obsessive.
I stayed for 5 months because I was very depressed through most of it. I needed someone in my life badly. I had to have someone to hold me and love me and protect me. He was good at doing those things from time to time. But again, it was only on his terms. I stayed because I thought he was a catch and that I should be grateful that someone like him (actually, it is the initial outwardly appearance he projects to the world) found me attractive enough to ask me out. I stayed because I wanted to make it work, even as it got tougher and tougher. He could not admit his mistakes. He could not make changes to his behavior because he didn’t feel that he was doing anything wrong. He couldn’t respect me because it was not his nature and not possible for him to do. And even though my depression got better, our problems and our constant head butting and back 'n' forth shit with one another was enough to ruin us.
I cried tremendously on Saturday and much of Sunday. I cried because I couldn’t figure out how and why he turned on me so quickly Friday night. I cried because this wasn’t what I thought I wanted. I wailed because he completely shut me out and treated me like less than a stranger or even a human being. He ignored phone calls, texts, everything I could think of doing to get him to talk to me and “take me back” (funny how now I feel the exact opposite about he being the one who should ask me for forgiveness). He treated me like garbage that day and it took several hours before I wised up. Somewhere between the tears and the sad phone calls I made to friends and family, I realized that this in fact, is one of the best things that could happen to me. I was now facing my most frightening nightmare: I am alone and I have to do things all by myself. That was my fear for these last several months. I didn’t want to be alone because I thought I was too weak to do things without any help. The thought of moving somewhere unknown in 6 weeks and spending Thanksgiving with only my cats was incredibly scary to me. The thought of not having a boyfriend in my life was terrifying. In 10 years of dating, I have been single all of 6 months. That would definitely be a major sign of someone who can’t stand to be alone. Now I am facing that fact and today I fear it a whole lot less. Yesterday, while I felt like a zombie or a shell-shocked soldier, somehow I got through my day and completed more tasks than any other day in practically the last year. I finished all of the laundry (minus a half dozen shirts that need ironing). I packed up several things in my room to get ready for the move. I did all of the dishes as my dishwasher stopped working last week. I went and got an oil change that was 1000 miles overdue. I bought numerous items I needed for the household including light bulbs and florescent lights that had burned out months ago. I cleaned out the living room heater (and managed not to shock myself) so I could finally turn the temperature up in the living room. I went to school and picked up a bunch of books on hold for my term paper. I started my design project for architecture class. And I made it to the gym (two days in a row!!).
Which brings me to my next major event. But before I get to it, I want to talk about the gym.
It’s not just the fact that I got to the gym. It wasn’t just any old gym. It is the student recreation center at school; the same rec center that I have been afraid to work out at since I started attending the university. I couldn’t bring myself to go exercise with those skinny Barbie and Ken dolls and worry about all of my jiggling. It’s odd how that works. Those of us who need exercise the most tend to be discouraged from going and getting that exercise because we are afraid of what people will think of us. If I see another large person working out, I think, “hey, great for them. They love themselves enough to do that.” But I worry what the tiny beautiful people are thinking. My pain from the breakup was enough for me to say “fuck it”. I marched into that center and ran a mile on the indoor track. I went back the next day (slightly less intimidated) and biked a half mile in addition to another mile of jogging on the track. I am on a roll here. I’m not sure why it took a traumatic event to get me off my butt. I’m sure it goes back to that whole feeling of I can’t do anything myself and finally having to face that head on. I’m going to win this thing, I can feel it.
The major event (finally, finally I am getting to it) has to do with my weight. I have been afraid to say what I weigh both here and in the real world. I lost a great deal of weight over the last two years or so but I was waiting on a particular number before I finally admitted my weight again publicly. I reached that number on Saturday. I have always called it my magic happy weight number. And if you don’t follow the link, I’ll explain that it was a weight that was going to make me into a whole new person. It was THE NUMBER that was going to make me feel like a normal person again. Reaching that number meant that everything was going to be perfect from now on and I would never have to worry about my weight again. I think that many people who are overweight or obese see losing weight as the key to their happiness. “If only I lose weight… “ “When I am skinny…”
When I was 275 pounds, I used to play that game every single minute of my daily life. It's the "When I am skinny, I am going to do this and that and this and all of those activities and I'm going to wear whatever I want and I'm going to be popular and smart and beautiful" game. We all know it very, very well!
Fill in the blank: When I am skinny, ________________.
Everyone who is overweight has a thousand answers for that blank. I sure do. I wanted to be well liked and looked up to. I wanted to be admired and sought after (snort...my expectations are always high!). I wanted to dress a certain way and wear heels. I wanted to go on lots of trips and do all sorts of things. I wanted to be pretty. I have lived in that mode far too long. I think as long as the weight held me back, I had the ability and the means to hold myself back even more. I am the fat girl and fat girls just don't do things that everyone else does. Sigh... when I lose that weight though, I am going to be unstoppable!
Somewhere between 76 pounds and 2 years, my attitude did a 180. I go do things now and I don't let my weight hold me back. I have gone on many trips, I've discovered new talents within myself and I have been blessed to have three separate men grace my life during these last few years. And even if one of those relationships ended badly, I still have best friends that came out of the other two. That’s pretty good odds.
I was walking around today (okay now, let’s be honest with ourselves. I was not only walking, I was sauntering around with my hips swinging and my head held high) and I noticed that people pay attention to me more than ever. I walk with purpose. I walk like I belong on the set of “Sex and the City”, I act like I’m worth something, and I dress like a sexy woman with curves should. I put pride in my appearance. I suck in my gut and I walk with a straight back. I look everyone in the eye. Oh, and I smile an awful lot. I pretend I’m doing fine, even if I feel self conscious (I still feel residual effects of a childhood full of bullying. I am paranoid and often believe others are watching me. This actually happened in several instances where I was watched and made fun of for a variety of things I did wrong or the wrong clothes that I wore when I was a child. It left me understandably cautious of crowds and close spaces with other people. I figured out though that if I thought everyone was always staring at me, why not look and act like a million bucks then? It certainly makes me feel better at the end of the day). If you notice me doing this and I somehow look snobby or conceited, just remember that I have earned those curves; I have suffered through many years of pain and self loathing to get to this point. I can say that I love myself today and I have every right to enjoy what I love. I have come to a compromise with my body. Naked, I still can’t stand the sight of my body. But since I’ve been able to find the right clothes to compliment my shape, I am able to say I love the way I look in them on a daily basis. I feel like a woman all the time now.
It took some time for me to realize that my body shape was special, and not in a bad way. I just needed to find the clothes and tailored cuts that worked for me. I was so used to oversized shirts hiding everything that I didn’t realize there are clothing lines and designers out there that actually work hard to accentuate the beautiful and curvy female body. Once I figured out the secret, I learned to be picky and to only buy what looked fantastic on me. I don’t settle for anything less. It’s my money and my self-esteem after all. 3 years ago I had one skirt in my closet (from a wedding more than 2 years earlier). I hated dresses because my hips and butt always looked ten times bigger under all that fabric. I wore stretchy leggings and huge polyester shirts with awful circus-like prints on them as staples in my workday wardrobe. I didn't really care how I looked, every angle was horrible. Today I own a dozen skirts and dresses that I wear quite frequently. In fact, I dress up every chance I get (the only action that the sneakers are seeing is in the gym). I feel good because I hold myself up to a higher standard against the old me. I find that I’m beautiful because of it.
Saturday, October 14th, I stepped on the scale and saw 199.8 for the first time in my adult life. This was the number I had been waiting 11 years for. Because of the drama of that day, the success of reaching such a major goal was bittersweet. But it wasn’t just because of the breakup and my pain. It was also related to my new attitude and changes that had already taken place. I thought I was going to look a whole lot different at 199. I always pictured a much skinnier girl. I also thought that everything was going to fall into place around 199. But all I have today versus 76 pounds ago is a different set of problems, not fewer of them. I am engaged in the world more than ever before. I take more risks than before and yes, I get hurt by some of the outcomes. The changes that have occurred did so just before 199 and they ended up rendering that number almost powerless. It is just a number after all. 199 versus 200 doesn't make much of a difference to anyone but math nerds and dieters. But its like a tipping of the scale (pun not necessarily intended) in a way. It does symbolize a major change that I chose more than 2 years ago and that I've been waiting a lifetime for. It just didn't come in the form that I expected.
Sometimes the pot of gold at the end of our journey is not what we thought it would be. Sometimes the gold is missing and sometimes what’s in it's place is far more valuable than the gold itself. I think the lesson here is that I need to be prepared for a variety of outcomes when I choose a certain destination or path to follow. I need to accept that change is always inevitable and it's not necessarily a bad thing. I, and many more people, need to recognize the gold we already have today, not the dreams we are counting on tomorrow. I can stop chasing the elusive ends to rainbows for a little while and enjoy where I am. There is gold all around me.
Oh and I don't think Michael is a jerk either. I do tend to think that he doesn't have all the necessary tools to be able to communicate with his partners. I think he's been so used to doing things on his own, and always being the strong one, that he doesn't know how to let anyone else help him. He doesn't know how to learn from others. He is selfish and after this weekend I've found out that he's quite a coward too. I'm not angry at him. I only wish he could find the strength to let go of some of his control (it's a stranglehold really) in his life so that he can find that one person to grow old with.
On Friday the 13th, (this is somehow ironic in a sad and funny way), Michael broke up with me permanently. I stress permanently because this time there is no turning back. It is truly over and I've come to accept that, and as you will see in a moment, I am happier for it. But even so, I was heartbroken for the first 36 hours. I didn’t understand what happened. One minute he is telling me he wants to hold me, the next he tells me to just be done with him. What did I do to provoke this, you ask? I merely stated my dissatisfaction with the lack of time we were spending together. His weekend is on Thursday and Friday. I asked Wednesday what he was doing those two days. He never mentioned spending time with me, he didn’t ask me to do anything, and he just stated he needed to see what was going on. We hadn’t spent time together since Sunday. I was upset and (I realize later on) rightfully so. Rather than let me express my feelings (which did not include anger), he told me he would speak to me later (always, always delaying anything important that needs to be discussed in the belief that it will simply go away). I had had enough of that kind of treatment. I told him that I was tired of having a boyfriend who didn’t make time for me and didn’t seem to want me around very often. He only wanted me when it was completely convenient for him. He is very used to getting his way and doing everything according to his rules. Looking back I realized we had some very stupid fights over the last 5 months. Like the one about watching football all day when I thought we were going out together somewhere for the day. I don’t dislike football, I was just angry that he assumed and carried out his plan of what was going to happen that day, NO EXCEPTIONS. Our fights always had the underlying theme (that he never seemed to catch on to and correct) of selfishness, usually but admittedly not always on his part. He was used to being alone, having his bed all to himself, his house, his time… everything imaginable. And he was very good at controlling everything around him. It was almost obsessive.
I stayed for 5 months because I was very depressed through most of it. I needed someone in my life badly. I had to have someone to hold me and love me and protect me. He was good at doing those things from time to time. But again, it was only on his terms. I stayed because I thought he was a catch and that I should be grateful that someone like him (actually, it is the initial outwardly appearance he projects to the world) found me attractive enough to ask me out. I stayed because I wanted to make it work, even as it got tougher and tougher. He could not admit his mistakes. He could not make changes to his behavior because he didn’t feel that he was doing anything wrong. He couldn’t respect me because it was not his nature and not possible for him to do. And even though my depression got better, our problems and our constant head butting and back 'n' forth shit with one another was enough to ruin us.
I cried tremendously on Saturday and much of Sunday. I cried because I couldn’t figure out how and why he turned on me so quickly Friday night. I cried because this wasn’t what I thought I wanted. I wailed because he completely shut me out and treated me like less than a stranger or even a human being. He ignored phone calls, texts, everything I could think of doing to get him to talk to me and “take me back” (funny how now I feel the exact opposite about he being the one who should ask me for forgiveness). He treated me like garbage that day and it took several hours before I wised up. Somewhere between the tears and the sad phone calls I made to friends and family, I realized that this in fact, is one of the best things that could happen to me. I was now facing my most frightening nightmare: I am alone and I have to do things all by myself. That was my fear for these last several months. I didn’t want to be alone because I thought I was too weak to do things without any help. The thought of moving somewhere unknown in 6 weeks and spending Thanksgiving with only my cats was incredibly scary to me. The thought of not having a boyfriend in my life was terrifying. In 10 years of dating, I have been single all of 6 months. That would definitely be a major sign of someone who can’t stand to be alone. Now I am facing that fact and today I fear it a whole lot less. Yesterday, while I felt like a zombie or a shell-shocked soldier, somehow I got through my day and completed more tasks than any other day in practically the last year. I finished all of the laundry (minus a half dozen shirts that need ironing). I packed up several things in my room to get ready for the move. I did all of the dishes as my dishwasher stopped working last week. I went and got an oil change that was 1000 miles overdue. I bought numerous items I needed for the household including light bulbs and florescent lights that had burned out months ago. I cleaned out the living room heater (and managed not to shock myself) so I could finally turn the temperature up in the living room. I went to school and picked up a bunch of books on hold for my term paper. I started my design project for architecture class. And I made it to the gym (two days in a row!!).
Which brings me to my next major event. But before I get to it, I want to talk about the gym.
It’s not just the fact that I got to the gym. It wasn’t just any old gym. It is the student recreation center at school; the same rec center that I have been afraid to work out at since I started attending the university. I couldn’t bring myself to go exercise with those skinny Barbie and Ken dolls and worry about all of my jiggling. It’s odd how that works. Those of us who need exercise the most tend to be discouraged from going and getting that exercise because we are afraid of what people will think of us. If I see another large person working out, I think, “hey, great for them. They love themselves enough to do that.” But I worry what the tiny beautiful people are thinking. My pain from the breakup was enough for me to say “fuck it”. I marched into that center and ran a mile on the indoor track. I went back the next day (slightly less intimidated) and biked a half mile in addition to another mile of jogging on the track. I am on a roll here. I’m not sure why it took a traumatic event to get me off my butt. I’m sure it goes back to that whole feeling of I can’t do anything myself and finally having to face that head on. I’m going to win this thing, I can feel it.
The major event (finally, finally I am getting to it) has to do with my weight. I have been afraid to say what I weigh both here and in the real world. I lost a great deal of weight over the last two years or so but I was waiting on a particular number before I finally admitted my weight again publicly. I reached that number on Saturday. I have always called it my magic happy weight number. And if you don’t follow the link, I’ll explain that it was a weight that was going to make me into a whole new person. It was THE NUMBER that was going to make me feel like a normal person again. Reaching that number meant that everything was going to be perfect from now on and I would never have to worry about my weight again. I think that many people who are overweight or obese see losing weight as the key to their happiness. “If only I lose weight… “ “When I am skinny…”
When I was 275 pounds, I used to play that game every single minute of my daily life. It's the "When I am skinny, I am going to do this and that and this and all of those activities and I'm going to wear whatever I want and I'm going to be popular and smart and beautiful" game. We all know it very, very well!
Fill in the blank: When I am skinny, ________________.
Everyone who is overweight has a thousand answers for that blank. I sure do. I wanted to be well liked and looked up to. I wanted to be admired and sought after (snort...my expectations are always high!). I wanted to dress a certain way and wear heels. I wanted to go on lots of trips and do all sorts of things. I wanted to be pretty. I have lived in that mode far too long. I think as long as the weight held me back, I had the ability and the means to hold myself back even more. I am the fat girl and fat girls just don't do things that everyone else does. Sigh... when I lose that weight though, I am going to be unstoppable!
Somewhere between 76 pounds and 2 years, my attitude did a 180. I go do things now and I don't let my weight hold me back. I have gone on many trips, I've discovered new talents within myself and I have been blessed to have three separate men grace my life during these last few years. And even if one of those relationships ended badly, I still have best friends that came out of the other two. That’s pretty good odds.
I was walking around today (okay now, let’s be honest with ourselves. I was not only walking, I was sauntering around with my hips swinging and my head held high) and I noticed that people pay attention to me more than ever. I walk with purpose. I walk like I belong on the set of “Sex and the City”, I act like I’m worth something, and I dress like a sexy woman with curves should. I put pride in my appearance. I suck in my gut and I walk with a straight back. I look everyone in the eye. Oh, and I smile an awful lot. I pretend I’m doing fine, even if I feel self conscious (I still feel residual effects of a childhood full of bullying. I am paranoid and often believe others are watching me. This actually happened in several instances where I was watched and made fun of for a variety of things I did wrong or the wrong clothes that I wore when I was a child. It left me understandably cautious of crowds and close spaces with other people. I figured out though that if I thought everyone was always staring at me, why not look and act like a million bucks then? It certainly makes me feel better at the end of the day). If you notice me doing this and I somehow look snobby or conceited, just remember that I have earned those curves; I have suffered through many years of pain and self loathing to get to this point. I can say that I love myself today and I have every right to enjoy what I love. I have come to a compromise with my body. Naked, I still can’t stand the sight of my body. But since I’ve been able to find the right clothes to compliment my shape, I am able to say I love the way I look in them on a daily basis. I feel like a woman all the time now.
It took some time for me to realize that my body shape was special, and not in a bad way. I just needed to find the clothes and tailored cuts that worked for me. I was so used to oversized shirts hiding everything that I didn’t realize there are clothing lines and designers out there that actually work hard to accentuate the beautiful and curvy female body. Once I figured out the secret, I learned to be picky and to only buy what looked fantastic on me. I don’t settle for anything less. It’s my money and my self-esteem after all. 3 years ago I had one skirt in my closet (from a wedding more than 2 years earlier). I hated dresses because my hips and butt always looked ten times bigger under all that fabric. I wore stretchy leggings and huge polyester shirts with awful circus-like prints on them as staples in my workday wardrobe. I didn't really care how I looked, every angle was horrible. Today I own a dozen skirts and dresses that I wear quite frequently. In fact, I dress up every chance I get (the only action that the sneakers are seeing is in the gym). I feel good because I hold myself up to a higher standard against the old me. I find that I’m beautiful because of it.
Saturday, October 14th, I stepped on the scale and saw 199.8 for the first time in my adult life. This was the number I had been waiting 11 years for. Because of the drama of that day, the success of reaching such a major goal was bittersweet. But it wasn’t just because of the breakup and my pain. It was also related to my new attitude and changes that had already taken place. I thought I was going to look a whole lot different at 199. I always pictured a much skinnier girl. I also thought that everything was going to fall into place around 199. But all I have today versus 76 pounds ago is a different set of problems, not fewer of them. I am engaged in the world more than ever before. I take more risks than before and yes, I get hurt by some of the outcomes. The changes that have occurred did so just before 199 and they ended up rendering that number almost powerless. It is just a number after all. 199 versus 200 doesn't make much of a difference to anyone but math nerds and dieters. But its like a tipping of the scale (pun not necessarily intended) in a way. It does symbolize a major change that I chose more than 2 years ago and that I've been waiting a lifetime for. It just didn't come in the form that I expected.
Sometimes the pot of gold at the end of our journey is not what we thought it would be. Sometimes the gold is missing and sometimes what’s in it's place is far more valuable than the gold itself. I think the lesson here is that I need to be prepared for a variety of outcomes when I choose a certain destination or path to follow. I need to accept that change is always inevitable and it's not necessarily a bad thing. I, and many more people, need to recognize the gold we already have today, not the dreams we are counting on tomorrow. I can stop chasing the elusive ends to rainbows for a little while and enjoy where I am. There is gold all around me.
Oh and I don't think Michael is a jerk either. I do tend to think that he doesn't have all the necessary tools to be able to communicate with his partners. I think he's been so used to doing things on his own, and always being the strong one, that he doesn't know how to let anyone else help him. He doesn't know how to learn from others. He is selfish and after this weekend I've found out that he's quite a coward too. I'm not angry at him. I only wish he could find the strength to let go of some of his control (it's a stranglehold really) in his life so that he can find that one person to grow old with.
posted by punkindunkin at 4:33 PM
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