Redux

I'm back doing it.  I'm back on Spark.  Not with the full rushing headlong motivation I had when I joined in 2009.  With a bit of trepidation and curiosity.  My sugar has been out of control. There, I wrote it.

This time around, my mentality isn't hardcore weight loss, not like last time.  I really need to get my sugar in check.  I tracked, with 100% honesty, everything I ate and drank today, and I checked in well under my calorie and carb goal.  It was surprising and quite satisfying, to say the least.  I let the program determine what might be good for me, this time, rather than setting harsh unrealistic unmaintainable goals. That's what was going on last time.  I found it easy to eat 1200 calories a day, at the outset, and I felt very proud of myself, that fat, "overzealous" Lisa, can eat the bare minimum and be satisfied.  It was fine till I started exercising vigorously five days a week.  Then I became starving, anxious, and I was really fucking up my metabolism.  Naturally, I crashed and burned.  Well, it was slow.  First it was "bah, we're going on vacation, let's not bother tracking."  Then, it was "well, between bronchitis and the holidays, no way we're getting to that gym". Then, "it IS Christmas, after all, sure, I'll have another drink."

Then we started hanging around the bar.  Four, five, six beers in a night.  A cheeseburger.  Chips.  Lots of chips.  That's when the real crashing happened.  Then, comes barbecue season, and beer...and well, it's been a hell of a year.  I lost 66 pounds in six months, and gained back forty of them over the year of 2010. I know I've been gaining.  I still step on the scale.  I watch that needle slide further over.  It was my year of excess, and here I am with all this collateral damage on my body.  My legs feel nervy and weird all the time.  My feet itch at night.  My skin looks thin and unhealthy, and my muscles aren't toned, like they were.

Luiz reminds me of the supernal Love.  To Love my body.  It means more than looking in the mirror and being self critical, and more than just loving how I look in certain jeans.  It means loving it like I love anything, and caring for it, like I care for anything.

I think this is the right time.

Feeling very "fuck it"

"Overzealous eating"  That's what I came out of that doctor's appointment with.  He asked if I had a problem with overzealous eating.  I look around me at the stuff other people consume, and I can comfortably say no, not at all.  

I lost 66 pounds, and it felt good for awhile.  It was the result of very strict crash dieting.  It was not a lifestyle I could at all maintain.  I tried to walk the middle ground for awhile, but for someone my size, there is no middle ground.  There's either "1200 calories a day, tracking every morsel of food that passes my lips, and obsessive exercising" or "fuck it".  Trying to maintain the portion control without logging every bit of food while still exercising...I started gaining weight.  That was discouraging.  It felt very black and white, to me.  Nothing short of extremely drastic dieting would keep that weight off.  One by one, bad habits popped back up.  We started drinking more again.  Then, some of the "NO!" foods eventually worked their way back in.  Then the exercising tapered off.  It's absolutely unrealistic to try and maintain a 1200 calorie diet for life, and that's the only way for me to lose the weight.  

Today's discussion with the doc was discouraging, to say the least.  He's thin, he's always been thin.  He says I have no choice, I have to lose 150 pounds, or else I'll find myself on a battery of meds.  He has no idea, no empathy.  I mean, I tell him the truth.  I still eat properly.  Small portions, very little meat, tons of veggies, lean proteins, legumes.  Not a load of junk food.  I avoid unhealthy snacks and fast food, I eat half portions in restaurants, I try to curb the sweet tooth.  I deny myself a lot of comfort foods, to avoid gaining weight.  I get nowhere.  I left the doctor day, after having blood taken, with a grand "fuck it" attitude.  Why suffer?  Nothing I can do seems to be helping.  Nothing good came of today. Nothing helpful.  No new information, no encouragement, no direction, no motivation.  I don't expect that sort of thing from my doctor, but usually after a weight discussion, I find it in myself.  Hell, that's WHY I eat the way I mentioned.  Every time is some new resolve, like "ok, let me start by cutting my portions in half".  Ever evolving, except for today.  Dead stop.

 I stopped at McDonald's on the way home, for breakfast.  I haven't had a sausage biscuit for breakfast in about 4 years.  It didn't taste that good, and it didn't make me feel better.  I thought, maybe it would make me feel bad and gross enough that I'd feel guilty.  I don't.  Or maybe it would be so delicious, it would at least have some aesthetic value.  It wasn't delicious.

It's something, at least.

Yesterday was the piercing day, and it was a very good day.  Like last weekend, I spent this part weekend making other people happy and sacrificing my time and energy.  Sometimes, it was for the great, helping Jake and Janae move in was a good experience and I know it wasn't a waste.  All the drama between Devil and Stooge, and their unrequited obsession.  All we set out to do was go to the bar and unwind after a long day, moving J+J, and instead, I spent the evening in the middle of high drama appeasing, and trying to comfort and do damage control.  That's all I'm going to even say about that.  That kind of bullshit doesn't deserve to get repeated or mulled over.

Sunday, the plan was to go grocery shopping, then spend the rest of the day relaxing.  I'd planned on finishing a video game, and giving myself a pedicure.  None of that happened either. Well, the shopping did, of course, because that was for other people.

Monday, though, that was all for me.  Michele and I hit Bobby's Burger Palace, then went on to Southside, to see Mike for the first time in over five years.  Walking in was strange. We were on good terms, I'd been there a few times after Michele quit, and we were cool.  She hadn't been there since The Break Up, when she took off for Fat Cat.  Mike looked at me, and greeted me with a smile.  A blank smile, one that says "I know you, and I think I like you, but who the fuck are you?"  Then I said "Hi Mike, I brought a friend in to see you."  and then the smile got huge and genuine.  It was an awkward few seconds, but everything went really well. We sat and chatted for hours.  Mike was once a skinhead, and a very angry dude.  Now he's Born Again, and while that normally irritates the hell out of me, I suspect he's in it for the right reasons.  He;s let go of the hate, and has a real loving and harmonious kinda vibe about him.  The new Zen Mike, that's got a fire in his belly for Christ.  It's cool.  Talking to him at length about his reptiles, piercings, people in general, ideas, the big questions, the big answers has always been a pleasure, but somehow even more, yesterday.  I got my earlobes stretched to a 2, a monroe, and my nose rings put in place.  I plan on seeing him more often now, for sure.  The ears are going up to a 00, both my conchs are going to be pierced with a 10 ring, I plan on adding at least two more to my already double pierced eyebrow, and then probably I'll be getting some microdermal implants around my cheekbone. I'm very happy to be in contact with Mike again, for an assortment of reasons.


I think the piercings and the Wii, and the desire to get things for myself is something of a backlash towards all the energy and time I've been giving to others.  Like, I seldom have a moment to myself, and when I do spend time alone, like now, I get something of a guilt trip over it, "You didn't wake me up! I miss you!".  I think spending money on myself is sort of filling in for that right now, and I get less shit for it. Not *no* shit, by a long shot, but less guilty feelings.