In this world of do more, spend more, play more, moremoremore, I have chosen "eat more" as my personal anthem. I've never met a hunk of sugar I didn't like, and even if I had, I would try it twice...just to be sure. I've gained weight...and gained weight...and gained more weight. I have plenty of viable excuses for the weight gain, but I'm to the point that even I don't believe most of them. I still tell people that it's because my husband is an amazing cook, or because he manages a great steakhouse, and of course it's because I've had four babies. Still, when I realize that the "baby" is almost two, and I don't even eat at the restaurant all that often, I know that there is something else. There has to be some underlying issue that is keeping me this way. I've come to the conclusion that there are several. Let's take a dip in Lake Me...
First and foremost, my biological family is made up of drunks and crazies. I won't go into detail. Just know that they aren't going to be on the cover of Family Fun magazine any time soon. (Though keep an eye on the Springer show. It's really only a matter of time.) I've spent my life trying to fit in and find my place. I've come to the realization that my place isn't in this family.
On the other hand, maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm too lazy to do anything about my weight. I pay for a gym membership that I never use. I live in an apartment complex with a gym on site that I walk past occasionally. I don't even know how many exercise DVD's I own.
I like to blame it on life in general. I just don't have time with the hours my husband works (though his shift normally starts at 2pm), and with so many kids in the house (well, three are in school all day, but that's not the point), and I'm so tired by the end of the day (because I stay up all hours of the night waiting for previously mentioned husband to arrive home from work). Let's not forget to take into account the physical fitness (mostly a lack thereof) of my parents. Both diabetic, morbidly obese, and outwardly unhappy with their lives, and my father died with so many other health issues that I would have to start another blog just to name them all. It's a metabolic legacy I'd like to do without.
At any rate, I've decided that I'm done. I'm tired of being the fat girl. I will do what it takes this time to make it to my goals, to be happy, healthy, fit, and in control of my life and mental state. And so I shout it from the rooftop (or maybe from my second floor window) "Goodbye Fatty! Hit the road, and take these frumpy, old lady clothes with you!"