If I move on, what will I have left?

Since my post yesterday, I've been thinking. If I somehow managed to move on from all the anger I have about my upbringing and life, what will I have left? If I magically work up tomorrow morning and all that crap was just neatly boxed up and put aside would I even have any emotions left?

I've come to realise that all the shit that happened, happened to make me who I am today.

I have an over active imagination, I'm always writing stories or playing out make-believe scenario's in my head. Sometimes I sit at my desk for a solid 10 minutes living out imaginary scenes/conversations in my mind, I'm not sure if this behaviour entitles me to a bed in the nearest Mental Ward or not, but some days I feel as though it should.

So one day I was sitting, somewhere, - I'm always sitting...it's never 'I was running and this idea came to me' lol. I don't run!....anyhoo. I was sitting and I thought to myself, 'Self, if you could go back in time, to any moment in your past and change one thing, what would it be?'

Going back to when I was 13, and deciding not to move in with my Dad. That's what I thought I'd change. Then I realised, that would mean I'd have been stuck with my Mum for longer and been even MORE miserable and probably never would have met my now ex, Shannon, and not have had my beautiful son. Kaleb is my reason for living, literally. If I didn't have him I know I would have killed myself by now. I'd have had nothing to live for, Bertha would have succeeded long ago at breaking me completely. Lord knows she's almost won before. I have the scars, both mental and physical, to prove it.

Ok, so maybe I do move in with my Dad but maybe I don't listen to him when he calls me fat. Maybe I ignore him and believe I'm hot and skinny. If only that were what I did at the time.
The possibilities are endless, but at the end of the day, the fact is that if I changed just one thing in my past, I wouldn't be where I am today. Things could have been a lot worse. So I try to appreciate that my past has made me who I am today.

I used to go to bed at night and pray with all my might, whilst crying hysterically, that I'd wake up and be skinny. God never answered my prayers, I've since realised this is because God doesn't exist. But that's for another entry, on a different blog.

I have done all manner of things to myself, looking back on which make me realise I really was hanging onto my sanity by a thread. I have written all over my face, in black eyeliner, disparaging words like 'Fat', 'ugly', 'worthless' etc (Re: Realisation).

I have burnt myself, cut myself, attempted to kill myself by suffocation, over dose, (considered) driving off a cliff and once I nearly stepped out in front of a truck. The only thing that stopped me from mangling myself on the front of that truck, was thinking about how the truck driver would feel knowing he was the death of me, even though I wanted to die.

I have scars up both of my forearms, inner and outer, from cutting myself. I have burn scars from matches and lighters, all self inflicted. I have a scar, just under my hairline on my forehead from where I bashed my head, repeatedly, into a glass sliding door until it broke my skin open.

I have hated myself for so long I'm not sure I know how not to hate myself.

Now that's not entirely true, I love myself as a person.

When my son was 16 months old I left QLD and moved back to WA, lured by my Mother's promises of more support and help with Kaleb than I was currently getting from Shannon. So off I went, and stayed just over 2 years. In the end it wasn't all my mother had promised. I was surrounded by my family, yet I'd go weeks, sometimes months, without seeing any of them or even getting a phone call from them. So in the end I was sick and tired of being alone and moved back to QLD, also so Kaleb could have a relationship with his Dad. Which is as important, if not more-so.

The point is, that being in WA did teach me something. It taught me that I only have myself to rely on. It also helped me to get in touch with the real me. For years I wasn't true to myself. I had what I call 'masks' that I put on for the different people in my life, different masks for what I perceived they expected from me. The real me would hide behind these masks, hoping and praying that the people in my life wouldn't see me for who I really was because I just knew they wouldn't accept me. They'd shun me and disown me. I have a very judgemental family. (Re: Realisation again, poem called 'Mask')

So I would pretend to be virtuous and Righteous (in the biblical sense) for my Dad. Manipulative and sneaky for my Mum. Demur, timid and obedient for Shannon and a myriad of other things for other people, but never my true self.

During my 2 years in WA I 'found' myself. The real me. I learned to love who I was and accept myself. I stopped caring if other accepted me or not. I learnt that I am funny, loyal, passionate, creative, caring, kind, bi-curious, open-mined and understanding. I have slight OCD and I'm controlling. I like to have things my own way. I'm impatient and restless. I like to watch weird porn. I have fantasies that aren't socially acceptable. I don't suffer fools well. I will be the best friend you could hope for, as long as it's an equal friendship. If you take advantage of me or piss me off one time too many I will cut you from my life without a backwards glance. I can put up with a lot of shit, but I will not be your door-mat.

I no longer care what people think of me.  I discovered my new life motto which is;

"I am who I am, take me or leave me, don't try to change me coz you won't succeed. I have to live with myself everyday, not you, so I'm going be true to myself. If you can't appreciate me for who and what I am, then you don't deserve me."

Whilst I love myself as a person, and know I am awesome, I hate my body and my general lack of motivation to do anything about my weight. Bertha is constantly telling me I'm lazy and useless. She also loves to make excuses for me not to exercise. They vary from minor body aches and pains to the weather and which socks are clean at the moment. Oh and of course if my iPod is charged or not. There is no exercise without music.

Bertha does have a slightly nice side though. I know her 'nice' comments are aimed to hurt me elsewhere though, like she tells me I deserve to rest and relax because I expend so much energy dealing with Kaleb on a daily basis. But this is in lieu of exercise. I think to myself that I want to (or rather should) go for a walk and Bertha whispers 'but Kaleb was such a handful this morning, it took you 30 minutes just to get him settled enough to get dressed for school. You deserve to sit down for the rest of the day and just veg'. It's hard not to listen to her, especially when I really don't want to exercise. It's not my favourite activity, whereas sitting on my ass at the computer is! More and more I am realising I want a lap-band. So I can sit and bludge and still lose weight. Or rather, do a minimal amount of exercise and still lose weight.

Here's something that terrifies me. I have 54kg left to lose to get to my goal weight. And that's my goal, not the 'ideal' weight for my height. I challenge you to stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself you have 54kg to lose and not break down. This time last year I had 74kg to lose, now I acknowledge 54kg is a lot less scary than 74kg, but it's still daunting as hell.

I have to apologise, this post is jumping all over the place with my random thoughts. I'm in the mood to share today and it doesn't always come out in a smooth chronological order.

My eating habits have gone way off the charts of late. I'm quite disappointed with myself in that regard. For about the first 12 months after my surgery I wasn't at all interested in sweet foods. Whereas before I could consume a massive bowl of icecream with all the trimmings (mini m&m's, mini marshmallows and a thick coating of Ice Magic) I could no longer stand more than 1 scoop of plain vanilla icecream, and forget about chocolate. Pre-surgery a full 200g block of Cadbury's would reside in my stomach within 20 minutes of breaking the foil. Post-surgery I was content with 1 line of it and I'd put it away. PUT IT AWAY PEOPLE!!! That was seriously unheard of for me. Also Icecream would sit in the freezer for weeks, if not months. Pre-surgery Icecream was replenished weekly, if not bi-weekly.

Instead of sweets I craved spicy foods. Curry's were a fave and everything had to have sweet chilli sauce with it, or at the very least cayenne pepper. I was seriously using cayenne pepper in lieu of regular black pepper and eating jalapeno's by the jar. Nowadays my sweet tooth is back with a passion. I spent $40 at the confectionery warehouse in Brisbane just over a week ago and we literally have none of those lollies left. I bought a 1.3kg bag of Allen's Strawberries & Cream, among other things, and as of this morning, thanks in most part to Kaleb, they are gone. I originally went there to buy 2 things only, for a cooking project, which would have come to a total of $10.

I can't seem to stop myself eating sweets. I really, really crave them. I know it's only head hunger, and I've gotten better at ignoring it, but I am always searching for something sweet to nibble on.

I've also fallen off the wagon with buying low fat foods. Last week when I went grocery shopping I bought regular tasty cheese, instead of low fat, and full cream milk instead of lite. I switched to lite milk over 18 months ago, so I suppose it's not such a huge deal that I bought full cream this one time, but I plan to do it again. That's what scares me. I don't intend on going back to lite milk or lite cheese. I'm sick of crappy tasting food.

In my video blogs I'm always talking about changing my lifestyle, and I have/did. I changed everything I could over to the 'lite' version. I got in to the habit of exercising regularly, even if I hate it. I make better food choices when out. I always remember to ask for a skinny cappuccino/latte when having a coffee with friends. I'm just over it at the moment. I want to have a break. I want to eat normal food like it won't make me fat again. I'm avoiding the scales again too. I'm drinking at least 9L of coke a week, on my own. My skin is itching again as well, like it does when it's stretching and I'm going to get more stretch marks.

I know I need to get back to the low fat foods, and I will. Just not now.

My goal this week is to find and attend a Zumba class. I promised Warren I'd try. I promised myself I'd try. I think I've made Warren my surrogate. I use him to reflect myself. I don't see him as this guy who's pushing me to do things I don't want to, and have no desire to do. I see him as myself, telling me what I need to do to be happier, healthier and skinnier. So when I make a promise to Warren, I'm making a promise to myself and to not follow through on that promise would be to cheat myself. What person would knowingly cheat themselves?

Me, Far right 2000. 18 years, 112kg