Eff The Scale


I’ve come to the conclusion that the scale is a big fat bully. This stupid, glass, square shaped ass looks at me every time I pee and just wants me to stand on it and upset me.  Donald bought this super fancy one that tells you you’re fat, tells you how much oxygen you have, and then sends a notification to your phone reminding you how fat you are. First of all, once I get on the scale, that’s enough, I don’t need to get a little reminder with that number on my phone! How rude… Oxygen? Really?…I’m fine! 

 

So, I started this new thing and I’ve been doing it for about a week and it’s magical! I’ve started to measure my weight loss in the form of compliments rather than in the form of a stupid number. This past week, I have had one person say “I can’t believe what you look like today compared to what you used to look like“, ( I mean, I know I look a lot better, but I was never so hideous you couldn’t look at me!) for that compliment, I will take off 2.1 pounds. Then two days later, someone else said how thin my face got- another pound there! Measurements in compliments is way more effective than getting on some stupid box. By the way scale making people, perhaps you should make a scale that gives you compliments like; ” Good Morning Beautiful” or “You Look Nice Today”, what’s the point of these mean numbers anyway?

So from now on, I will keep eating my vegetables, and all you nice friendly people around me can keep the nice comments coming… I’m listening!!

She’s Just Pleasantly Complaining


Image

 

I wish I understood why some people “absolutely love to work out”. Like seriously, for you people that love the brutal pain that comes with it everyday, I have a lot of questions for you. Let’s sit down and talk about it over a large bowl of chocolate brownie ice cream with whipped cream, k thanks. Last night, I went in for my weekly crossfit routine. Ugh, just thinking about it just gives me the chills. My Crossfit boyfriend (well he’s not really my boyfriend, we just have a secret love affair that no one knows about. Except it’s not really a love affair, he just pushes me to work out, and I really like the positive encouragement) is super nice to me, and really pushes me to work out as best I can. Celeste and I really get a kick out of it when he mentions that it’s not a squat unless it’s “ASS TO MAT!”. Ugh, I’m getting the chills again just thinking about last night– not in a good way. After I left class yesterday, I was so happy that I had accomplished it. Walking up the stairs was quite the challenge, but I thought that it would get better. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

So here it goes, if you will not attend an ice cream binge session with me,  I have a lot of questions for you, Gym Mice…

1) Do you like not being able to sit down on a toilet regularly? Like does it feel good when you need to hold on to the walls, and sit down slowly like you’re about to lose your legs?

2) Do you sometimes fantasize about cutting off your legs? I do. Like today. Everytime I get up, I walk like there’s a dead cat up my bum.

3) Is it normal to sweat from parts of my body that I didn’t know existed? I have found new places on my body that are very new to me. In those places, I find puddles of sweat, hope this is normal, because to be honest, I’m really not in the mood to wait in my doctors waiting room again.

Now, I know that working out is fantastic, and it really helps with the weight loss journey, HOWEVER, these three questions are specifically directed at the people who like to be in daily pain! I’m just a confuzzled ball of fat, so can someone please answer my three teeny tiny questions?

Above, was the angry fat girl complaining. Now, the healthier me is talking and damn I hate that pain but I know it’s worth it in the end. I wish I could go to Crossfit every day, but like you know, I’m not Bill Gates or anything. I’ve decided that I will start a charity for the poor, and unhealthy like me. Donations for Crossfit For The Pleasantly Plump and Pleasantly Poor , can be sent directly to me.

My Personal Fashion Statement


Image

 

My clothing options weren’t always the best choice. I would have two extremes. Either I would dress myself up as a homeless bag lady, or I’d pretend that I weighed 120 pounds and wear booty shorts with a barely there t-shirt. Either way, no matter the outfit, I looked ridiculous. It’s funny though. I would leave my house, thinking I looked absolutely spectacular, and it would take only one strange look for me to feel ridiculous in my outfit of the day. I’ve come to the realization that nobody can make me feel pretty but me. Maybe I like my oversized sweaters. They’re comfy and make me look ten pounds larger than I really am. I like them and I’m comfortable in them, so I will wear them! Maybe I also like to show off my pleasantly plump belly button. I like my belly button. I think it’s nice and perfectly rounded and perfect in general. Why shouldn’t I want to show that bad boy off?

Maybe it’s because I’ve never loved myself up until now, or because I’m learning to love me for me. Who knows. Whatever it is. Maybe someday I will want to wear fancy couture, or I will want to wear less revealing boobie clothes and more revealing bum bum clothes. If I feel good in what I’m wearing, then I will wear it. Let there be reactions from others, I’ll take it as a compliment. I’ll love me, no matter what I wear. I’m more important than what the clothes on my back.

Charlie Hane sent me this little piece yesterday, and I was blown away by it…

 

“I just know that I was tired. I was tired of thinking less of myself because others did. People always ask me, ‘You have so much confidence. Where did that come from?’ It came from me. One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl. I wear colors that I really like, I wear makeup that makes me feel pretty, and it really helps. It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it”- Gabourey Sidibe.

Blame


Image

 

What I have learned these last few months, is that nothing comes easy. That, and if I lie to myself, things will only backfire and turn out worse for me than they were at the beginning. It’s very easy to blame others for your wrongdoings. It’s easy for me to wake up and say I’m fat, I hate myself, so and so did this to me. Nothing will ever change until I actually, really admit that I am my own problem. My entire life, I’ve been blaming others for my faults. I blamed my mom for not giving me enough attention, I blamed my “father” for not being around, which caused me great psychological pain, I blamed teachers for making fun of me and calling me stupid, and blamed kids for everything else that was wrong with me.

My mom, the one who I always fought with, the one who I told ruined my life, the one that I said I hated time and time again, now turns out to be my best friend. She may still give me those motherly looks sometimes, but I know, deep down, aside from all those stupid faces and comments she may give, she appreciates me for me, and sees me for what I really am; for that child model I should have been years ago. All jokes aside, she’s one of few who have pushed me to keep going, and who truly believes I can do this. What can I blame her for? Being honest? Telling me I was fat? She was just pointing out the truth. It’s not like I didn’t see it. Maybe she wasn’t saying it in the nicest way, but she did not cause me to be fat. Her words did not put the food in my mouth. My own greasy McDonalds fingers did.

“Father”, left when I was two. No idea who he is. He calls me to tell me he loves me and misses me regularly, but to be honest, I don’t really know him. While some people may be quick to diagnose me with “Daddy Issues”, I think I’m stronger than that. I had a mom who was a father to me as well. I didn’t have a dad to buy me a car, or to run to when my mom was mean to me. Doesn’t mean the lack of his presence is the reason I’m fat.  I think being the child of a single mother makes me stronger, and makes me learn from my strong mother. That man who calls himself my father, in the end- really did absolutely nothing for me. Didn’t teach me anything, didn’t teach me values in life. I guess if he didn’t have the power to do anything for me, how could he have had the power to make me fat? In my eyes, he was powerless- therefore, can’t blame him either.

Teachers and peers were not nice in school. While I was always tall for my age, I knew I stood out. I started to get bigger when I was younger, and while stealing lunch from little kids, I guess that’s when I start to balloon. I did it to myself. I asked to be called Hillary Germs, and I asked the teachers not to like me. Teachers really didn’t like me because I was awkwardly tall, and had to stand next to them in school pictures. I was a really cute kid, and probably took the attention off them which made them really upset and not want to like me. Just a thought. I stole snacks from kids lunches, I didn’t participate in activities because I was lazy.

It’s time I stop blaming others, and just beat this disease once and for all. Feeling sorry for myself won’t make me lose weight. Looking in the mirror, and telling myself that I am fat won’t make the weight fall off. I could have turned this all around and said my mom, absent father, teachers and bullies were the reason why I am fat. No one sat me down and forced cheeseburgers down my throat, no one told me I had to take snacks from kids. No one told me I had to closet eat. No one told me I had to sneak to a fast food chain at 2:00 am.

I did it to me. I have no one to blame but me. Now that I have accepted this, I know that I can do this weight loss journey. While I have stalled, a stall is not my reason for failure, a stall should be a reminder for me to wake the f!@ up and get back on track.

Obession: Food


Image

 

Hello,

My name is Hillary, and I am addicted to food. I like all sorts of food. Preferably food that is greasy, food that is meaty and food that is yummy. I like to eat at all hours of the night. I like to eat all hours of the day. This is starting to sound like one of those Dr. Seuss books, so I’m just going to shut my mouth up now.

Even after having my stomach surgically removed, I can still think like a fat girl. I can still want to eat the food that all normal greasy people eat, and just because my stomach isn’t a part of me anymore, doesn’t mean I won’t stop thinking as if I still had it. I can literally go to my fridge, and start cooking like I completely forgot I had surgery. Five minutes into my eating session, which I like to call “pre-dinner”, I find myself stuffed, and wanting to projectile vomit all over my wall. (TMI, SORRY, GET OVER IT!). When all people cook, they like to taste here and there, and see what’s going on to make it better. However, when it comes to my cooking, I like to make myself a pre-meal. This could be anything from microwaved leftovers, to low fat anything else. Mind you, when I make these pre-dinner snacks, while cooking dinner, they’re not fattening. The doctor would be proud. However, the doctor would not be proud that sometimes I forget that I had the surgery.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember, especially when there’s a sweet table staring you in the face, or a table full of delicious greasy cheese filled pizza. Sometimes it’s hard to remember when everyone around you is eating all the foods you haven’t eaten in four months. Sometimes it’s hard to remember when you’re busy snacking. It’s easy to remember though, when I look back at that picture of myself from 4 months ago. Then it’s really easy.

As crazy as it sounds, I guess I just need that constant reminder that I am not like everyone else. I can’t eat the same way as everyone else or in that case, the way I used to. When I see someone pouring themselves 2L of Diet Pepsi at one sitting, I shouldn’t be upset, or jealous that I can’t have any, because I don’t want to be that person anymore.

I wish I could say that I know someday I will get over the obsession of food. But who am I kidding? Food will always be a part of my life; I just need to be the bigger person, and not let food win.

Helga Chen (1988-2013)


OBITUARY:

Chen, Helga. Will not be sadly missed by her external self. Helga was not gone soon enough. All those who knew her, did not like her. However, Helga had many nice qualities (of those, we are still unsure). Helga lived a long enough life, and died suddenly after having the “fat slapped out of her”. Donations in Helga Chens name can be made to the “Hillary Can’t Eat Mini Eggs Foundation”.

Rubber Ducky, You’re So Fine.


Image

 

As a child, I remember thoroughly enjoying bath time. It could have been due to the fact that I was able to go swimming in my own effing house, or the fact that I was able to splash everywhere, thinking I was making a mess, but in reality, I was just helping with the cleanup. I remember this one time, when Duffy and I took a bath together, he pooped in the bathtub and then started to cry. I don’t think I was supposed to tell anyone that story. Happens to the best of us, sorry Duff!

Over the years, I’ve grown to not liking bath time so much. As hot as I make the water, I still end up freezing my little tush off. I could blame the size of the bathtub, however, I have decided to blame myself, for the first time ever. I can’t remember the last time my entire body was able to be submerged into a bath all at once. When I try though, I need to stick my legs in the air, and then try to dunk my whole body. That doesn’t really work out, because the second I need to get up, my bath becomes a giant wave pool and before I know it, my entire bathroom has been flooded- lets just say the Asian family below me isn’t so happy. This past weekend, I tried to do a little experiment, and try to figure out how to take a real bath like a real human being, and really enjoy myself. After a lot of thinking, pruney hands, and ice cold water, I had finally figured it out. The only way I was able to do this was to lay flat on my stomach with my arms by my side and dunk my head under water. This was a sight to be seen… or not. Getting up was a challenge, and took a good five minutes.

Instead of having goals for myself, like I want to wear this pair of jeans, or to lose five pounds, my goal for this year is to immerse my entire body in a bathtub and enjoy my bath like I used to as a child. Except, maybe I won’t invite my brother to take a poop.