Confession Time! ((ABSOLUTELY NO JUDGEMENT))

fitoverfortymom wrote: »

Confession: Hubby has also been losing weight and basically half-*kitten* IF, creates most of his deficit through exercise, and basically wings it. Things have slowed so he wants to get in on my meal prep action to create some diet consistency and more predictable weight loss. Fine by me, so I just doubled-ish what I make for myself this week, but made sure it was more food he likes than just stuff I like. So two days in a row he totally left his lunch at home and I'm super grumpy because it took me a lot longer to do meal prep this week and he's basically wasting my hard work. *sigh* He can make his own damn lunch.

Also just called to tell him how awesome the quinoa salad I made is, so now we can both be grumpy.

Also I have a new job which is really interfering with my *kitten* around time on the Internet. Very grumpy about that.

I am a hot mess. Throw darts at me and you will hit both literal and figurative scar tissue.

My dad didn't believe in things like hospitals and physical therapy for injuries, so by the time I got actual medical help I was:

(1) an adult,
(2) obese, on the edge of morbidly obese,
(3) malnourished (somehow),
(3) infertile,
(4) suicidally and perpetually depressed, and
(5) half-crippled from a triple-twist (plus neck hump, plus neck vertebrae aligned *backwards*, somehow) in my spinal column.

Fortunately, my mom recognized #4 for the ticking time bomb it was and got me a therapist as a teenager. But it was the last one that did me in. Otherwise I might have just kept going like I was going. I have no idea where I'd be now if that happened.

By the time I realized there was something terrible wrong with my spine, I'd already lost 2/3 of the weight I needed to lose by sheer effort of will and exercising until near-unconsciousness. (Don't do that, by the way. The therapist and I have had words over this and what does and doesn't constitute anorexia.) And by "realized there was something wrong with my spine," I mean, "in so much pain at 25 that I could only take distances 10 steps at a time before sitting down."

It's been four years since then. I've lost a lot of weight and I'm not obese anymore, or malnourished (turns out my childhood diet of meat, cheese and little else wasn't good for me--who knew?), or even infertile--I got into a good OBGYN and an orthopedist who messes with my hips now and then. When I was nine, my abdomen (stomach, uterus, cervix, ovaries) was one long interconnected line of scar tissue. (It hurt. All the time. Also, it bled out a lot.) My stomach got better once I started eating better; the scarring's getting better with hormones and exercises (and other, nastier treatments, but hey...results). The hump came out of my neck last week, and my neck's going the right way again, so I only have---er---three other curves to tackle. *sigh* I walk, but I can't run. I can do karate twice a week, though, so it's getting better. It just feels so damn slow.

I sometimes daydream about having parents who'd actually take their child with broken bones to the hospital and physical therapy and whatnot, but that was not my life. (I didn't realize it at the time, but mom was as bad off as I was--she broke her neck(!) and my dad didn't even take her in.) I'm glad I don't talk to my dad or his family anymore.

I have an incredibly long way to go. Days like today feel like a death march. But hey, here's me. Marching.