Blame


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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.

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Helga, Helga, Go Away!


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It’s time for Helga to go away and to never come back. Her funeral will be held tomorrow morning at 9:00 am. RIP big girl.

Helga is driving me up the wall and all she wants to do is to sabotage my life. I swear, if she bugs me one more time to walk to the kitchen, I’m going to slap the fat out of her. People look at me in public because I’m always yelling at her; maybe I shouldn’t have stopped my crazy pills. But that’s a discussion for another day.

It’s not that I’m hungry, or that I’m bored. I really don’t know what it is. Helga tells me to eat, so I do. I still sometimes forget that I was surgified, and Doctor removed my stomach. Sometimes I wish I would just have more control. It’s so hard to just wake up one morning and just give up your love for food. That just doesn’t happen in the real world. I am so envious of all these healthy fit people who post their Instagram and Pinterest pictures about how healthy they are, and look at their abs. Good for you, but b!@#, I’m jealous. I know I’ve lost over 40 pounds, but I’ve been at the same place for almost three weeks, and can’t seem to get out of that evil number that haunts my dreams. I want to stand up to Helga and tell her to eff off because she does nothing for me, but keep me in the same sad fat place I’ve been for a long time.

I just wish I could break that evil number and just get on with my life. Helga, you are not wanted. Let me do this on my own.

I Got A Divorce


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I love chocolate. I love chocolate plain, on bread, on pizza, on popcorn, on chips, on everything. I will eat any kind of chocolate, anywhere, any time. Chocolate is my addiction. Chocolate is the silent killer. Chocolate is the enemy; Helga’s enemy. Wait, chocolate, is not the enemy. Chocolate is the lover that never lets you down, listens to all your problems, but comes back to bite you in the fat ass when you step on to the scale.

Yesterday, while doing my oh-so healthy grocery shopping, I noticed that the unholiest of chocolates were on sale. You know those chocolates? The ones that are shaped like perfect little eggs, with perfect little candy coating, in that perfectly packaged purple wrapping? The ones that only come out around Easter, and then go half price the day after. MINI EGGS. Mini Eggs. MINI EFFING EGGS. I love mini eggs. Mini eggs are killer. If I could, I would probably marry mini eggs, but that would just be weird, because then I’d eat my lover and be single again. Weh. Anyway, so while I’m doing my grocery shopping, I notice this sinful cart of literally 300 bags of mini eggs staring at me in the face. The worst part about this cart, was the fact that there was a ginormous 50% off sale sticker on the front of it. How could I resist? My favorite chocolate, at 50% off. It was like meant to be. (shut up, Helga). Anyway, there was a small bag, and then the bigger bag with 5x the chocolate in it for 50 cents more. I put the bigger bag in my cart and didn’t think twice. As I approach the cash, I look in my cart, I put the eggs away and say goodbye. Two seconds later, the eggs magically appeared in my cart again. This happened a total of four times, until the hideous Bulky Bernard tapped on my shoulder and says to me in his animalistic voice:” either take them or put them back lady”. I was mortified, and put those bad boys down. The mini eggs and I, we’re through. I just signed the divorce papers.

Celeste and Simone are standing around me now, and we are describing the perfectness of a Cadbury Mini Egg. It’s the crunch, the amount of chocolate, the right amount of candy to chocolate ratio. OK, seriously, shut Helga up, she’s getting in the way of my healthy thoughts.

Anyway, I’m strong, and I can walk away from mini eggs. Be strong people! Eat a normal egg!

Maybe If I Wasn’t Fat


Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have had more friends.Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have been more popular. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have had more clothes, leading me to have a stupid shopping addiction and having me enter rehab for being a shopaholic. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have been rich, instead of me spending all my money on boutique $5 sugar coffees and stupid food.

I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. We are put on this earth to do something, and I guess my thing was being fat (and being pretty, and smart, and funny) I think that by being a fat kid, I was made a stronger person; not physically of course, because I can still only lift like three pounds. I feel that now I’m ready to conquer the world, and I now have the cocky confidence all those b!@es had in high school that I didn’t.

… but it’s time that I wake up and smell the turkey bacon, because I am fat. But I’m also happy. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I wouldn’t have all my amazing friends, or have the best relationship with family. Good thing I am fat though, otherwise y’all wouldn’t have the giggles reading about it!

toodles!

Finally Fitting In


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OK, don’t hate me, but I’m going to get all mushy for a second. I was out last night with Donald and his coworkers; Carla, Mr. La Hyman, Willow, Adamo and Sasha. For the first time since I was able to like speak, I finally felt “normal”. I know, I know, there is no such thing as normal, and everyone is special in their own special way. No, whoever made that up (Oprah, probably you), you must have been on crack because weird people are weird, and enjoy hanging out with other weird people and don’t feel cool. Popular kids hang out with the popular people, and like to feel like they’re better than everyone else around them. Society made that up, not me. Don’t hate me because I speak the truth. KK, thanks! Ok so anyway, last night,  I totally just felt like I fit in, and I was making jokes and totally felt cool for like that night. I think I’m getting more comfortable with myself.

I hope Donald doesn’t get mad, but I totally saw this dude checking me out when we walked into the bar and he kept giving me googly eyes, and I was all like “yeah, I’m hot, I know it”. I won’t lie, but I totally had “I’m Sexy and I Know it” playing at the time this creeper was checking my hot bod out. Anyway, it boosted up my confidence level a bit, and now I’m totally excited to go out again and be the life of the party.

So when I was fat(ter), I was always super loud, and obnoxious and strange and made really odd sounds, and my mom thought that there was a kind of like, chemical imbalance in my brain. I went to doctors, and they all said the same thing. (I don’t remember, probably that I had ADHHHHHD or something). Dr. Me, has come to the conclusion that I was just masking the pain of being a fat girl. I would do so, by being a loud obnoxious “oaf”. So to try to get the attention off of my body, I would just try to be strange. Anyway, not sure where I’m going with this, but I’m totally able to be loud and obnoxious now, and do it just because I want to, and not because I’m fat and trying to cover being the Michelin Man.

Ps. Hey Skinny Girls,

I love you. We’re BFFAEAE.

xo

Soon-to-be Skinny Girl

100 Posts


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Today is my 100th post. I do not weigh 100 pounds. That would be super awesome though. I do however, weigh under 100 kilos and have never felt lighter. I’m so proud of myself.

As I am on a new path, I figured I would take time to communicate with people that I have had a falling out with in the past. I made it a point this week to apologize to all the people that I’ve wronged in my life. The people that I once blamed for my insecurities, the people that stabbed me in the back and I retaliated by posting a not so nice blog about them. All but one accepted what I have to say. To be honest with you, the people that listened, were the only people that mattered. From all those people who listened to what I had to say, and apologized for their actions in return, I thank you. It shows loyalty and maturity, and shows me hope that there is such a thing as decent people in this world.

I have never been in such a great place in my life, and I am so lucky to have such wonderful people around me, helping me and wanting to see me succeed. Being honest about my surgery, and letting everyone know, made me feel a lot better about everything, and I find that I now have an amazing support system around me. At the beginning of all of this, I was contemplating keeping this surgery to myself, and not letting anyone know. What’s the point in lying? Lying clearly didn’t get me far. If you can’t be honest with the world, then you can’t be honest with yourself. Some people may have self esteem issues and be embarrassed of “taking the easy way out”, but personally, I see it as being stronger.For people who have had any type of surgery, be honest with yourself. It feels so liberating to let everyone know what you’re going through.

The love and support that surrounds me is unimaginable!

At this point, nothing can bring me down; and a little piece of advice: jealousy is the ugliest quality one can have.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank everyone who has supported me through this blog, and sent me such positive vibes concerning my weight loss. You truly are the people that matter!

Put It Down Fat Girl


My gym membership finally came back into effect today. YAY! Not. What a sick April Fools joke.   Fat girl inside me still feels lazy and doesn’t want to go. I know I have to, but I don’t want to. But I need to, because I don’t want flabby skin forever. Once I go, I know I’ll get all this crazy energy, and want to go all the time. I’m kind of also excited that I’ll get to be one of the “normal sized” people in class. I think I’ll be able to last a lot longer in class and won’t come up with as many excuses to not go to classes. Speaking of fat girl, let’s give her a name; how about Hefty Helga. It’s not nice to just call her fat girl, right?

This weekend, after some much needed alone time, I found myself looking in the fridge; saying hello to snacks and ice creams. As I pick up a spoon to eat my delicious looking ice cream frozen yogurt,I look down at my jumbotron stomach, and say “put it down fat girl”. Healthier Hillary decided that it would be the right thing to put the ice cream weapon down and take advantage of this time to herself. I got this sudden burst of energy, and moved all my furniture to one end of my apartment. I put on some running shoes, a large sweatband and turn on a Richard Simmons tape. Thirty minutes of Sweatin’ To The Oldies later, I look over out my window, and I notice this nice but creepy rapist-looking fellow staring at me, you know the kind with like the creepy moustache and the big rapist glasses? (I’m sure his name was Raymond or something creepy like that). It was way creepy and I should totally invest in some blinds.  I still don’t know whether I should take Raymonds intense gaze as a compliment or as a totally creepy gesture. Either way, is it wrong if I said I liked it?

Also, this weekend, I found my two favorite chocolate bars together to make one delicious mouth watering treat. DAIRY MILK BUBBLE BARS. I almost peed myself when I saw this. I went to the store and started sniffing the packaging. I will admit I got a few stares, but so what? I realized how much of a douche I looked like, and yelled at Helga to put it down. I don’t need you chocolate, we’re over.

The scale was nice to me the next morning, so I think Ricky Simmons and I are going to be best friends. My new weight loss trick is to stick a picture of Hefty Helga on the fridge. Every time I go to grab a treat, I’ll be reminded of how I don’t want to be that girl anymore.