Believe it or not, I’m still in the game. I’m still trying to slim down, get healthy and I still want to reach all those lofty goals…

I got over my little (shameful vanity) setback awhile ago already. Thanks for the kind and supportive comments. Not long after that incident, I had one of those moments where you take yourself in hand and give yourself a good talking to.

The result was I went back on to a mild anti-D. It’s called P*r*i*s*t*i*q (the asterisks are my, ahem, clever attempt to foil would-be spammers). I’m on a low starter dose now for about three weeks. I haven’t noticed any big difference. I’m sad, but on the other hand, I’m not quite in the depths of despair, either. My sadness is appropriate though…

How do you segue from, “I’m not in the depths of despair” to….another terribly sad event rocked my poor family this week? You don’t, you just plunge on. Anyone reading this blog must think we are like some terrible Greek tragedy.

At 4pm on Monday afternoon, an urgent email was sent to me by my niece. I didn’t see it for about 30 minutes, and when I did, I was momentarily puzzled. The email came from my sister’s address, as a reply to an earlier email that she had already replied to from me. 4pm is 10pm for my sister, and she goes to bed early. When I opened it, it still took me a few moments to comprehend what I was reading and that it was from my niece. My niece and her husband had driven out to my sister’s home late that evening because the police had contacted them to say my sister’s son had been in a car accident and was dead. I think my niece didn’t know how to contact me, and the email was easiest.

My sister’s son had just turned 36. He was the cause of a lot of trouble in the last couple of years in my sister’s life, and my niece’s life, but the person he had hurt the most was himself. He had been flying really high for a long time, working hard, owning his own business. He had bought homes and really really expensive cars (a Hummer and a Lamborghini!) and was on top of the world. Somehow (and in that “somehow” lies a very long, tragic tale of woe), it all came crashing down, and he lost everything. His wife finally left with their two little boys, and in the last year he’s been more out of work than in, still claiming that he’s got millions somewhere, not making sense, becoming abusive with his family and generally wreaking havoc.

I was thinking about him on Monday, actually, only hours before I got the news. My sister had gone away last week-end, mainly to get away from her son, who had been phoning and phoning and had been threatening violence. She was thinking of obtaining a restraining order, but was hesitating partly because she knew he’d react very badly. She was going to make inquiries on Tuesday - in fact, that was what our Monday email exchange had been about. After I read her last reply, I thought to myself, “this will never be over. The only way it will end is if he dies.”

I didn’t actually want him to die though. Would have been nice if he just could have pulled himself together, but in my heart I knew he couldn’t. It seems ironic now - when I had that terrible thought - he was already gone.

I’ve been remembering him as a little boy. He was a beautiful child, funny and mischevious and full of personality. I remember he adored his sisters. I remember how much his birth pleased our family. For two generations, there had hardly been any boys! Our grandmother was ecstatic. I remember that when he was about three or four, he took a shine to an old pair of boots that were his “Auntie” Ingrid’s (she’s only about 6 years older than him). The boots were in the garage at his grandfather’s beach house, and every time they’d visit, my nephew would run off to find his boots, which he was convinced were real fisherman’s boots. He was really small for his age, and the boots went up past his knees. He looked adorable. They were so obviously “girl” boots, but my nephew would have none of it….they were HIS fishing boots now.

The last time I saw him was in 2004. I was in SA with my mom, we visited his home for a braai  (bbq). He was obviously so pleased to have the whole family there, him being the man of the house, and he revelled in being (and was) a very good host. His home was beautiful. His two little boys were scooting around on their tricycles, playing with their cousins, my nieces two boys who are the same age. He enjoyed showing us his two big dogs and the cars and boasting about his eldest son’s naughty escapades.

It’s really sad, isn’t it?

I’ve been calling my sister every day, and I am so releived that she is surrounded by caring people. She sounded much better today. Dare I think it? Let the healing finally begin. 

I have a good friend who has always struggled with her weight. We worked together for a long time, and over the years I know she has tried different things, but always seemed to reach a point, not quite goal, and then go right back up. She never really was into Weight Watchers, but I noticed she ate pretty healthily. Last year she retired. She and her husband went through a rough patch, so most of last year was really hard on my friend. Nevertheless, during that time, she started with Weight Watchers, started exercising a bit in the gym in her apartment building, and is now doing Pilates, I think, and maybe also something called Jazzercise. I saw her on Saturday, and she’s looking really nice. My friend is a pretty woman, too. I reckon she must be now at about 225 or so. I think at one point she may have topped 300, so this is excellent. We both attended our mutual friend’s daughter’s Bat Mitzvah. It was a wonderful occasion. There are four of us, friends now for a good fifteen years. We used to be five but our dear friend Toni died of breast cancer over five years ago. The four of us don’t see each other much anymore all at the same time, so I really looked forward to the occasion. I dressed in a black dress that I bought 10 years ago for my 20th high school reunion. It’s a nice dress, has squiggles of some sort in a cream colour over the black, and it’s made of that stretchy polyester material that Chico’s outifits are made from. I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s much beloved by plump woman, which seems odd, given that it’s clingy. It drapes nicely on the body, though, if you have enough material. Anyway, I still like the dress. Haven’t bought a new dress since then! I applied my make-up carefully, did my hair, creamed and perfumed myself and felt generally nice.

Here’s my confession - and the dark part of my story. I was a little surprised that my friend was wearing a skirt and top ensemble that was very similar to my dress, although I remember that she has worn this before. Because we are close in height, plump and blonde with similar colouring, I’ve noticed that once or twice, people have mixed us up. A young woman that I was speaking to at the reception remarked, “oh! I saw you dancing earlier!”, and right away I knew it must have been my friend, since I hadn’t danced.

Do you know what? This lodged a little negative thought at the back of my head - people think we’re that alike? I am maybe 40 or 50 lbs less in weight, and I’ve never felt I was in the same league, weight wise, as my friend. Then someone took a photo, and looking at the photo, I see how similar we both are, in fact, I think I look bigger. I felt utterly deflated. I asked Neil about it, and he said, “no, don’t be silly…”, but the thought of us looking the same stayed in my head, making me feel sad and disappointed with myself, and I stopped enjoying the day.

Now really, first of all, how vain and shallow is that? I love my friend, and it seems horrible that I’ve had a “superior” opinion of my looks when it comes weight and shape. But it’s true. I must have. I will say that I’m still happy for my friend’s success, but I’m sad for me. And yes, I know that I could have chosen to smile and be “up” and I probably would have had a good time, and Neil would have had a better time - not that I was sour, I still chatted and so on, but inside I felt lousy. And also, there have been so many times in my life when the way I felt about my weight held me back from enjoying something, and yes, I know that that is wrong, wrong wrong. But there you are. I let it get to me.

Here I sit today at work; I hardly felt it was worth trying when I got ready this morning. I have zero make-up on, I’m wearing stretchy black pants that I hate, and a big top that I bought awhile ago that was a mistake. It makes me feel lousy. Suddenly, I am doubting that I’ll ever make it.

I’m sitting here thinking, sh*t, I’m right back square one, and I will be all day today, tomorrow…..I have to take things down to that “one step at a time” phase again and relearn all the things I thought I knew. Just a tad tired of this.