The Life and Times of a Fat Girl (Rated R)

So….. the weirdest friggan thing happened this morning. So I sit down at my, so-far-from-combobulated-there-could-be-an-alien-life-form-living-on-it-and-I-would-have-no-idea, desk this morning.

There was a picture of me sitting on it. Now, I have no clue how it got there, or even where the friggan picture came from, but, I found it to be really amusing that this picture from the past just appeared out of nowhere. The last time I saw it, it was at the bottom of one of those “I could hide a human body in this sized” rubbermaid containers that I keep all my oldest junk in. It was a picture from 2002, when I was 20 years old with my two best friends at an Olive Garden in Hyannis Ma. I have just lost 60 pounds on WW and at this moment I was off the diet. I am 50 pounds heavier now – than I was then. I think I was about 220 in this photo

I don’t know what to think, many would call it inspiring, but I don’t see it that way. I just see it as a great annoyance because less than 2 months from then i would meet my boyfriend that I am still with. It is really sad to think about it - but I still see myself as the fat one in this picture even though it is 30 pounds away from the lost weight I have now. Scary, Sad, such a long way to go. The girl in the picture is filled with young hope, the ignorance of everything that would come in the years ahead of her. The demise of her family. The abuse suffered in the garage that I once called my room because my mother just got sick of taking it and allowed me to be her scape goat. I have aged so much since that moment and I am realizing how much the past is beginning to be held on my face as a permanent fixture. She has her whole life ahead of her … and the result that is left is sitting here typing this entry. Broken, bloated, depressed. No love, loyalty, friendship left after the divorce. Forced to take care of her baby sister. Forced to play the mind games of people who are so concerned with their own well being that they forgot what it is like to stay together as a team. How did this girl in the picture not break down and just give up? How did she not resort to drinking? Because the food she would force down her throat would ease whatever pain she was in - and the older version is now paying the consequences.

This entry has become a bit melancholy and I apologize for that… there has been a lot of my mind lately, which is making my weight loss an after thought. It could be a good thing because it keeping my mind off of food. Could be a bad thing because my weight loss, as I said to Eileen in a recent comment on her blog, could land me in a prison yard being someone’s bitch as I pump iron on the prison diet.

I guess even the funny fat girl has to have a lapse sometimes.

Oh, and the HTML on this blog can still - eat me.

Okay, so i got kind of pissed last night. Don’t blame the food. Blame my bastard father moving into my living room. 27 years old and I still feel like that fat kid hiding in the garage hoping he doesnt get wasted and pick a fight with me. This is such crap.

The man eats me out of house and home – and when I tell him we are going to have to go and figure out a way to get money for groceries – flat out refuses to give in.  My sisters are useless slag’s. My mother, well, we all know how she is.

I work at home, as I have said about 30 bajillion times before, and the idea of having this asshole meandering around doing NOTHING and just being a total [insert the worst curse word you can find] .

I am filled with anxiety and annoyance, and I am not going to food, which is good. But I am pounding the cigarettes like no one can even imagine. I am losing my mind. I am sitting here looking at the blank screen and I just want to break down.

I usually have a lot of fun with this thing but tonight I am just miserable and sad.

So I will let LOL Catz do my bidding.

I am frustrated. So frustrated that I am putting it behind a cut for my expected use of the f word. User take caution because you are one click away from watching me blow my cool.

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