And in the beginning...

There's something you should know about me, in case you already don't. Besides the fact that this blog will skip all over the damn place, and sometimes run off on tangents that you might find hard to follow (consider yourself warned, but I always make it back to my point), one thing I HAVE to say is this:

I'm fat. Not pleasantly plump, or simply overweight, as I've tried to tell myself for years. The first step in fixing a problem is accepting that you have one, and what that problem is. And my main problem is that I'm fat.

I'm still pretty, or so I'm told. I still "sparkle" according to one of my BFF's. But I'm fat. I have to accept this. This isn't just a physical image issue - it's a health one. I had a heart attack four years ago. I was 34 years old. Did I change my diet? For a little while. Did I lose weight? A little bit. Did I quit smoking? For a while. Until I went back to work. I have four stents in my arteries. And my diet still consists of deep fried crap and a marked lack of vegetables and fruit.

And then my dad died - from a heart attack. And instead of it being a wake up call, I went into what's been a year and a half long stupor. I smoked like a chimney, ate whatever I wanted, stopped going to the gym. Essentially, I gave up, waiting for God to take me too.

My dad was my best friend. And every day that goes by I miss him more and more. Summertime is the worst because it was his favourite time of year. But this summer, I quit smoking. It's been over a month now. Father's Day was my last cigarette. I still jones for them, especially when I am drinking. But overall it hasn't been as hard as I expected.

But when you're fat, anything you accomplish seems trivial. And I don't know if it's just me. But when I speak to my "thinner" and healthier friends, and they find out that I've quit smoking, or done something positive in my life, the tones in the "OH MY GOD. That's terrific!" sound incredibly insincere to me. It sounds like they're placating a child. "There, now, that's a good girl. But you could do so much better, if you'd just lose weight."

I've waited for years for my husband to help me with my quest to lose weight. I'm not a cook. If I don't have a recipe, I can't make anything edible. At least that was the way I'd viewed myself for years. I needed his help to cook the type of food that would be healthy for me, and for him as well. For years, we've eaten fast food almost every night. Not only has it been draining on our savings, but it's put eighty pounds of ugly fat on my body. That's right. EIGHTY POUNDS. I was never in my right weight zone. But now it's skyrocketed. And I'm fully disgusted.

But it seems like he doesn't want to help, because things aren't being done HIS way. Yes, whatever cooking's been done is usually by him. That stems from when we started living together and I tried cooking a few times. His response was "I don't feel like that; I'm ordering pizza." leaving me with food that I no longer wanted to eat, and a sinking feeling that I'd done something wrong. He's also always said that he's tired of doing all the cooking. And then alternately he doesn't mind doing the cooking, but he hates always having to be the one who decides what we're having. This has backfired on me too. On days I've decided what I want for dinner, he's resentful at having to cook it. So why would I make the decisions? And he doesn't see it from that side, only that I'm being unreasonable.

It's always my fault.

I made meatloaf last night. Just had an urge to cook, and tried to think of something we hadn't had in awhile. We had chicken and ribs on Sunday, and the pork chops weren't looking so good at the grocery store. So I bought ground beef and went with meatloaf. I've only made it twice. It's turned out great both times. This time, not so great, but I was still excited to surprise him with a home cooked meal.

Should have known.

ANYWAY (see tangent!) , that's not my point. My point is that who I am is not defined by how much I weigh. If I was this weight and healthy, it would still bother me, but not as much. But I'm not. So I need to get to the point where I am. And frankly, I'm tired of having to buy plus sized clothing.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about my first step to losing weight. The new program I'm on called Visalus. I don't know if it'll help, but I'm going to give it a shot.

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up later.