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A very popular catchphrase in the dieting world these days is “lifestyle change”. I’m not entirely sure I subscribe to this phrase. I’ve made a “lifestyle change” no less than four times.

I’m in the middle of the fifth lifestyle change. I’ve done the Lean Cuisine Lifestyle Change, the Weight Watchers Lifestyle Change (three times), the Diabetic Exchange Lifestyle Change, and now I’m working on the I Have No Clue What I’m Doing Lifestyle Change.

Let’s not even talk about exercise plans. I’ve done the Swimming thing. I’ve done Yoga Booty Ballet. Done the go-to-the-gym-for-two-months-pay-for-a-year plan. I’ve done the Firm. Have tried running and walking. I briefly tried some striptease videos that were horrible.

Here’s the problem. First of all, nothing has actually been a lifestyle change. I like crap for food. Do I love myself enough to make the changes?? I don’t know. See, I reaaaaaaaaally like the foods I recently broke up with. I mean, I love them. I don’t want to imagine a life without them. Every time I start a new “lifestyle change” it goes great for the first… week… month… four months. The longest I have ever lasted is six months. I have actually stuck with exercise longer than I have with my diets lifestyle changes.

Here’s where I am now. I am lost, that’s where I am. Right before I lost my dad and grandma, I was kind of stuck. I had been doing the diabetic exchange, but had kind of plateau-ed. I started looking at my exercise. Well. One place tells you it’s important to do cardio. Another tells you NO! Skip cardio, you need weight training! Lift heavy! Lift light! The third tells you to do both. One says work muscles every other day, another says you can do every day. One says eat before you exercise, another says not to. How do you know?

It’s way worse with the food stuff. Between Weight Watchers, Diabetic Exchange, South Beach, the Zone, low Glycemic Index, low carb, low fat, low calorie, no carb, Mediterranean Diet, YOU on a diet… what’s the right one?? If you read one it sounds wonderful. It sounds like exactly what you need. It makes promises it can never keep. Then you read the next set of information and it tells you how wrong the last set was, and how THIS is the important one.

I know what you’re thinking. No, really I do. You’re thinking one of two things. The first is this: “Well, I did _______ and it worked for me! I’ve taken it off and kept it off for _________ amount of time and this is my lifestyle change. You should try ________.” Or number two: “Keep it simple Paige. Just cut the calories and exercise. The details don’t matter. Eat less, exercise more. It’s simple.”

I know. I’ve thought both things. I’ve tried both things. Been there, lived that. I’m truly at a loss. I need to talk to someone in real life about it and not get my information from the internet. In the meantime…???

To the person who found my blog by searching “I didn’t cry when my dad was dead” I’m just so, so sorry.

When my dad died I found myself totally incapable of understanding up from down. I didn’t know what to expect as far as my feelings, and to some extent I still don’t. I haven’t had a breakdown in a few weeks, and I keep asking myself, “Am I ok?” “Am I just stuffing all my feelings and they’re going to come out in some awful form a year down the road?”. When he died I’d search the internet - ‘grief groups’, ‘parents dying’, ‘dad dying’, ’stages of grief’, etc.

I’d browse what I’d found, but none of it seemed to quite fit. I knew- know- that I was- am- grieving, but I’ve never quite had this experience before. I didn’t know what to expect, what to feel next, how to react. I just knew that I was so freaking sad. And totally and completely overwhelmed. The biggest feeling was that of confusion. I felt confused about the fact that I was living in a world where my dad was not. I felt confused by all of my feelings. I felt lost as to how to proceed and how to manage everything.

I still don’t have any answers. I guess the biggest thing is that- you have to make your own way when you’re grieving. Everyone does it differently, and different ways are grieving are ok, as long as you’re feeling the feelings. I still get sad. When I bought my husband’s birthday card- well, birthday cards for husbands are right next to birthday cards for dad. Buying my dad’s birthday card was always a tricky situation, because we didn’t have a typical relationship. Our relationship wasn’t always easy. I found myself reading the cards for dads. I wondered to myself if I would cry, right there in Wal-Mart. I didn’t, but I was a grouchy mess the rest of the night. Had I actually talked about it, I may have handled it better. Instead I stuffed it and pretended it didn’t exist.

Because I got so tired of grieving. So tired of being sad. So tired of every day having to face the fact that my dad was gone. I kind of started trying to ignore it. The fact of the matter is that you can’t ignore it. I have to feel how I feel, otherwise I will manage those feelings in negative ways. I will eat them, or spit them out at my husband, or let them grow inside until they’re too big to manage.

So to the person who didn’t  cry when their dad was dead: I think that’s ok. But if I was to tell you anything- don’t ignore how you feel. It’s going to come up one way or another. If you don’t cry it out, that’s ok. Everyone handles feelings differently.

So. I started out at 199. (you know- one. nine. nine.?) Then, two weeks later, I had not really done anything, had made a very half-assed effort at eating well and exercising, the whole shebang. I felt sorry for myself- poor me! Dad died! Grandma died! I’m fat and my clothes don’t fit! I must eat more!!

 So I did. Then last week I decided to get up off of my ass and do something about it. I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. Let me clarify: I did not say stop the grieving process. I am still grieving. I am still sad. But I am not eating my feelings. I’m not using grief and all it’s associated feelings as an excuse to eat whatever the hell I want all the time, as much of it as I want, and sit on the couch all the time.

I got on the scale on Monday, the first day of my fourth attempt to lose weight. (ah, that’s a FUN sentence to write.) The scale laughed at me. It said “hahaha!! Look at that loser, you gained SIX pounds in the past two weeks!” (I gain weight VERY easily, I think. Or that’s just an excuse and everyone gains six pounds in two weeks.) I was up to a solid two. zero. five.

However, I made some much better choices. I didn’t let the scale or my feelings dictate how I ate. I am following the old diabetic exchange, but pretty loosely. I’m doing it a little lower carb and a little less regimented, but with the same basic outline. I am exercising, but I’m alternating videos (the Firm) and walking. The goal is to not get sick of what I’m doing. I’m already sick of eggbeaters, but that’s another story.

So. Monday I got on the scale- it didn’t laugh as hard. It told me that I had lost 2.8 pounds, down to 102.8.

It’s a start at least.  A move in the right direction. Have things been perfect? No. However, they are better. I’m finally making decent choices. I’m loving myself enough to make the good choices. Huh.

The only way to describe how I feel about Him right now…

Psalm 22:1: My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me??

This weekend was just that- boring. In a quiet, calm, peaceful, blissful way. I do not remember the last time I had a weekend where someone wasn’t sick, dying, there wasn’t a funeral, a wake, or a holiday.

It’s a nice change. There are certainly things I could have done this weekend. Both our desk and closets need reorganizing. The apartment needs to be cleaned. Things need to be put away.

Instead, I spent the weekend relaxing. The most strenuous thing I did was start to study for my LCSW exam. I’ve taken two practice tests so far and failed both of them in a big way. I have lots of studying left.

In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the rest of my boring, predictable weekend.

Dear McDonald’s, Taco Bell, and Burger King; french fries and chocolate shakes; chicken fingers and fries with ranch; Lime Tostitos and Oreos; tortilla chips with a block of cream cheese and salsa, entire bags of popcorn, and small bags of Fritos; Dunkin Donuts, Dairy Queen, and Starbucks desserts; three times too big portions at dinner, double helpings or rice, potatoes, and bread; Diet Coke; coffee ‘lite and sweet’; brownies, full fat ice cream, and Samoas; Mexican, pizza, and big bowls of white pasta; and- well, all the other crap I ate on a regular basis:

I know we were friends. I know you made me feel better when I was sad, angry, lonely, bored, and tired. I think I made you feel better because I wanted you so, and often made that clear. I loved having the option of turning to you whenever I wanted- it made me feel comforted and happy. Calmer. I knew you would always be there for me, just waiting. You would always taste the way I wanted you to. You would always reward me with equal parts of sweet satisfaction and guilt. You knew how I liked you and were always that way- fattening, greasy, and bad for me.

You are like my bad boy. The one thing I just can’t walk away from, even though I knew how bad you all were for me. You could give me diabetes, heart disease, and make it harder for me to get pregnant. Yet I come back to you time and time again. You make my tummy hurt after I eat you, yet I let you abuse me some more the next time. I knew how bad you were for me, people told me how bad you were for me, and yet I couldn’t walk away.

I can’t lie- I may come and visit, but I can’t stay anymore. When I do come visit- things won’t be the same. I won’t be going all the way with you- I won’t be filling myself until I can’t eat anymore, I won’t keep coming back. I have to walk away now. All the consequences of loving you are becoming too hard. I’m tired all the time. I hate the way my body feels and looks. None of my cute clothes fit. I feel like I’m dragging all the time. You’re just not worth it anymore.

I know this is going to be a hard break-up. I already miss you. You sit there taunting me, all M&M like and looking all cute in pink and orange when I drive by you just craving a hot chocolate. Yet… it’s time for me to walk away. To learn to love the good guys, who will love me back and make me feel better about myself and healthy. I must leave you though.

It was a good time, but the effects suck. Good luck with all your other lovers, I know there are many.

~Paige

It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself. Get over it. Move on.

And start losing weight again.

Most of the junk has been thrown away, the rest will go tonight. Healthy food has been bought. A plan has been made (the Diabetic Exchange, except a bit more low-carb) and exercise will be happening.

I fully expect to be a raging bitch for the next few days, as I will be going off caffeine, fat, and sugar all at once, as well as adding exercise. Khalil already told me he’s glad he’ll be out of town for a few days.

I have to do this. I feel disgusting, I know I’m not healthy, I’m tired all the time. And none of my clothes fit. I need to put FAT clothes in the FAT bin again.

I had a dream last night that I had a baby girl, and was trying to nurse her. I ran out of milk and I had to take a milk bath in order to get more milk to come in. Then I had my baby girl back again, and was nursing her.

I had a baby girl. In my dream.

I woke up today and I was out and about on errands. I thought, “Wait! Grandma should need to go grocery shopping this week!” Then it hit me.

The check on dad’s life insurance policy came today. It says: In settlement of your claim under contract ### on the life of WLB (my dad’s full name) DECEASED.

I know I’ve gained some weight, but I’m walking around today feeling like I am carrying 100 extra pounds with me wherever I go. The weight of the truths of my life are heavy today.

I’ve always been a crier. I have friends who are worse, but I do cry alot. I cry when I get mad. I’ll stop talking, and get very quiet, and cry. Which makes me even MORE mad, because I think, “Why am I crying? Why aren’t I yelling?”. I just cry.

I cry when I’m lonely. I cry when I’m tired. I cry when I’m scared, and even sometimes when I’m nervous. And yes, occasionally when I’m happy.

I also cry when I’m sad. Since dad and grandma died, this has happened in a specific pattern. I cried most of the way home from Pittsburgh, and then on and off the next day. Then I didn’t cry, for two solid days. Not a tear. I acted like everything was quite. alright. Then we went to order the flowers, and I lost it. And I lost it for the rest of the day. I teared up all day and then at night had a huge breakdown. Sobbing for what feels like ever while Khalil holds me.

Since then that is how it works. I have a few dry days, and one day where I feel like I’m on the edge, and then I lose it. On my dry days, this is a dandy way to live. I can almost forget that I’m grieving and pretend that I’m doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. The on-the-edge days suck. I spend all day trying not to cry. Swallowing my tears. Even if the reasons to cry have nothing to do with anything, I don’t want to cry.

Because since I started with the breaking down, crying scares me. I’m out of control, and heaving big sobs. I don’t typically cry like this. I cry, and then move on. These tears are hard to move on from. I spend a long time crying, then a long time calming down. I hate it. So I spend the days avoiding it. Which is not the best way to manage grief, I’m fairly sure.

I know I will get there. The days between crying are more and more- two, then three, then four, five. I know I’ll get there. I know that I will heal. I know I will miss them, and eventually figure out a way to say goodbye. I know I’ll always miss them but at someone I’ll integrate into my life the fact that I don’t have my grandma or father anymore.

I know I’ll get there, but in the meantime?? I just get through the day.