Wednesday, September 30, 2009

this is not a funny blog -

punishment can come in all sorts of forms:
physical (anatomical)
and on and on...

I've recently been physically punishing myself for my years of gluttony, which has been in response to years of emotional and physical discomfort.

In June 2008 a photograph was taken of me while attending an event. While at the event, which was an awards ceremony that I was receiving yet another commendation for my dedication to the bastardized feline association that recognizes you only if you stuff cash into their coffers. Originally they awarded you for true revolutionary marks in the breed but as in all things, it just gets down to ass kissing and one-upmanship.

Anyhow, where this is going though is that I still like a good party and enjoy attending because I did make 'friends' and this is the one opportunity that I have always allowed for a formal photograph to be taken yearly of my hubby and I. All of my years I've been pretty much against photos because I'm not a huge fan of my appearance.

Some of this stems from the 'punishment' I received as a child, statements like 'your ordinary', 'plain', 'not a beauty', 'no beauty queen' ...I even knew a boy that once said that I looked like a rat because my eyes were beady, too close together and my nose was aquiline.
I grew up a strange child, spent a confused year trying to ignore my budding womanhood by hiding it under men's suitcoats and Ace bandages strapped across my chest to try and trap my bosom. Hard to do when your hooters are honking like Canadian geese in the fall.

...I've trailed off, the pictures were returned a few weeks later and in them stood my husband who is always recognizable. His dome nice and shiny and eyes twinkling. He practically looks the same year after year just add a fresh shirt/coat, he doesn't age except for a few new gray hairs in his mustache and a few more smile lines/crinkles near his eyes.

However the woman standing next to him was unrecognizable, who was she but a bloated perspiring version of me? it was as if the movie magicians from an Eddie Murphy comedy got a hold of me and made me into one of his characters like Sherman Klump in The Nutty Professor.

For months my hormones were going absolutely crazy, the hot flashes were unbearable which I'd pretty much attributed to the hysterectomy I'd had a few years previously. This was a partial hysto - to put it lightly I erased the artwork out of the frame. My uterus was taken but those 2 delightful ovaries left behind, like miserable lumps of toxic globs.
Some of this sweating misery can be attributed to the surgery but for the most part, I believe is directly related to my enormous ass.

Back when we were first dating we used to say that we'd never let each other blimp out and be grotesquely fat! Yet, here we are a decade later and both of us are easily 100#s heavier than we were in our youth. Our health is failing, our looks not nearly what they were and certainly our sex appeal not what it was when we met. I know that I don't feel attractive when I look in the mirror. I hate that person that looks back at me, that's why I don't look at her anymore.

When we met I'd just been going through a good period in my life when my pain was tolerable, I'd been taking care of myself and staying active. Even though I still ached I was quite fit. That time has since lapsed and it has spiraled into years and years of long lasting pain, it is so extreme that I finally succumbed and allowed for one pain specialist to give me caudal epidurals.

That is the worst mistake I've let a doctor suggest and will not repeat again (and recently suggested to me again). If y'all didn't know, in those injections they are putting prednisone (anti-inflammatory)into your lower back, the lovely side effects of this medication is that it can make you ravenously hungry (even quoted from

Did you know that individuals that are on long term medications varying from sleep medications, antidepressants and anti-inflammatories also suffer from 'Snug-Jeans' syndrome..or let's just spell it out - we get fat from our illnesses.

You take a pill to cure symptoms of one problem and instead you have another problem which then starts another problem, and then that problem (the obesity) will cause yet NEW problems..and it's a never ending vicious cycle.

While visiting a new pain specialist the month before, a rather abrupt fellow, he immediately suggested the caudal epidural which I quickly declined and he poo-pooed. I described my dissatisfaction with results (no pain relief, incorrect placement of needle insertion and future sciatic pain and weight gain) and he ROLLED HIS EYES! he said that weight gain is temporary is minimal and rare in most cases, additionally that predisone does not stay in the system that long.
Funny statement because my family doctor disagrees and says the half life and side effects stay with you a lot longer, including those hunger feelings, irritability and sudden tiredness. Why would I want these symptoms when I am already someone with chronic fatigue and pain?

That's like giving free needles to a dope-fiend!

Then the bastard says, you know if you lose weight you'll feel better.

To which I begin my onslaught, Look here Mister let me give you a little insight. Once upon a time I was fit as a fiddle and I hurt like a mutha fucker. I stayed active, played sports and lead a semi-normal life and I hurt. I hide and cry when I'm alone and I don't lead on that I'm dying inside because I don't want pity. For years I've avoided doctors because I don't want to lower myself and ask for help. There are worse things in life than some pain but when I finally ask for it, help, then I damn well expect to get some.

Whether I'm 135 pounds or 280 pounds (at my worst) I have had equal amounts of pain and I am now here, asking for you to help me.

So I'm back to punishing myself years and years later. The doctors don't really want to help us other than to put a pill or a needle into our bodies, these just cover up some of the symptoms but don't cure the problem.

I know now that I am not going to get better. I read books, look online and read other people's stories, listen to other folks experiences and all I can do is make choices that can and possibly should help me.

For the last 13 months (on and off as I can tolerate through my pain, depression and desire) I've tackled exercise both the gym when I can afford it and then just good ol' fashioned walking, a reduction in some junk food and increasing my vitamin intake (FUCK I HATE PILLS even if they are 'good for you) and have managed now to lose 75 pounds.
This week's punishment - i.e. torture, is to cleanse my body of impurities (shit myself)
if the Muslim's can do this for 30 days I'm sure I can make it for at least 3 days and push it for 5 if possible. if I can't then I'll try to do 3 days every month. Maybe that will be a healthy change.

Walking is killing me and I would definitely appreciate any donations to obtain a low impact exercise machine, every night at the 2 mile mark (45 minutes) I am weeping in pain. I don't like to cry, especially in view of others but the pain is unbearable. My knee is singing Figaro and there is no beauty in this opera.

I beseech thee to bolster my strength and stave off the tears.
and find a cure

and if anything - perhaps I'm ready to try for another picture with my husband and I'll recognize myself again.