Friday, December 30, 2011

Fat and sassy.

For the past four days, I've been suffering from a migraine headache that varies in intensity from a mild annoyance, to "I think my brain might have actually imploded."  My body is weak.  My brain is weaker.

For the past seven years, give or take, I have known that I have a rare condition that afflicts mainly overweight women, mimics a brain tumor, and damages vision.

Upon hearing this news, I shed several pounds, the condition went into remission, and I put the experience into the very back of my mind, where I keep the things that "I went thru, but never have to deal with again."

Then I gained weight.  And more weight.  And now I am suffering from symptoms again.
And I am angry.
And I don't like to admit that my weight is having an actual, physical effect on another part of my body.

I have never felt more confident, more aware of myself, or more beautiful than I do inside this fat version of myself.  It has taken a literal lifetime to shed those unhealthy body-image issues, and believe myself to be as worthy and valuable as a small person.  It has taken me nearly three decades to abandon that uniform version of perfection, and love myself inside the skin I occupy.

And now, I may be forced to admit that this lovely fat softness might be, once again, a detriment to my overall health.

There are a lot of angry words I'd like to say about it.  But right now, my brain is humming, my face aches, and I just want the pain to stop.

Even if that means I have to start taking active steps to reduce my body weight, rather than resting comfortably and happily at my current weight.


Thursday, December 29, 2011

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Bones of isolation

We've all got them.  The proverbial "skeletons in the closet."
Some of them are silly.  Some of them are mild-mannered things, sort of lounging around in the background, threatening to be mildly embarrassing.  Some of them pick their noses in the car, or drink milk directly from the container.  Some of them scratch themselves for an hour after they go to bed, and some of them talk to themselves on the toilet.
Silly, silly skeletons in the closet.

Some of them are not so silly.  Some of them loom over us, dark, sinister things, threatening to destroy the facade of being "just like everyone else."  Some of them stomp around noisily in the background, as we attempt to go about our day, to smile, to be "normal."  They moan and nag at us, as we drive to our jobs, as we drink our coffee, as we wash our dinner dishes.  They search out each face, hoping for a kindred spirit, hoping for a way to break free and be known, be loved.
They keep us bound to them by secrecy and fear.  They leave us lonely and isolated.  They convince us there is no one on earth so twisted, strayed so far from society's norms.

They steal our sleep.  They invade our thoughts.  They threaten to isolate us permanently.

We spend a good majority of our time seeking out connection, and closeness in some form with those around us.  We "poke" each other on Facebook, we update our statuses regarding our feelings, our experiences.  We send out mass texts and emails, hoping for responses, hoping for a glimpse of the feelings or experiences of those in our circle.  And yet, when it comes to the darker sides of ourselves, most of us guard those skeletons at all costs.
Even at the cost of feeling intense isolation and separation from the very people to whom we desire to connect.

What's left starts to feel somewhat superficial.  So very on-the-surface.  So very shallow.

I want to know for certain where I am safe.
I don't.

Friday, December 16, 2011

My Confession

I feel as though it's time for me to make a confession.  Embarrassed as I am, I feel it needs to be brought forth, and I can only hope that time will heal any wounds, and repair any damage I might be about to incur to my friendships.  I hope you will read with patience, love, and understanding, along with a great willingness to forgive.


Here goes.

I don't like Star Wars.  

I feel so dirty.
The bare truth is, I haven't seen it since I was a kid.  I tolerated it, when one of my fathers watched it relentlessly for days and days.  Yoda was cute, even tho I thought he talked "funny", and I liked those little furry Ewok things that looked like bears.  Beyond that, it either bored me cross-eyed, or scared me shitless.  The idea of a person being crammed into the warm bowels of some kind of llama/horse crossbreed, in order to keep from freezing to death while one is abandoned in the desert...this is intense for a highly-imaginative child with abandonment issues.  Let's go a step further and just blame every panic attack I have ever had on that scene.  Another thing.  Why the hell is it snowing in the desert in the first place?  The weather in the Star Wars world is terrifying.
And what the fuck was with that huge hole in the ground, that had teeth, and chewed up anyone unfortunate enough to fall in?  If it's not bad enough that you're going to plummet to your demise, you get to be partially digested, and full of holes when you get there.  Fuck.
And let's not forget, of course, the fact that Luke's own father severs his hand during a sword fight.

While I'm out here on this limb, let me also make it known that I hated Star Trek.  I would moan audibly with extreme displeasure whenever I saw that goofy spaceship fly toward me in the opening sequence, and I could not change the channel fast enough.  When you're a kid with three channels to choose from, and some boring shit like that comes on, your afternoon TV watching is pretty much brought to a standstill.  And you're forced to find entertainment elsewhere.  Usually in the form of screaming at your sister.  Or maybe that was just my house.
Old Star Trek, new Star Trek, it doesn't matter.  I hate them all.  I hate Spock's pointy ears.  I hate Warf's twisted face.  I'm not sure what character Whoopi played, but I'm pretty sure I hate that one, too.  Reading Rainbow guy was tolerable, but only because I knew he'd be back later to read me some stories, and that he wouldn't be wearing a banana clip over his eyes when he did...

Take a look.  It's in a book.  

This, of course, leaves me feeling awkward and dishonest, when one of my friends (who all seem to be Star Wars/ Star Trek devotees), shows me the newest kickass item on their wishlist, in the form of a toilet seat that makes a Jaba The Hut noise when you sit on it.  Usually, I try and churn out some sort of neutral phrase that won't out me as the most uncool person on the planet.  "Oh, wow!  It's perfect for you!"   (I don't know if Jaba the Toilet Seat is  a real thing.  Fuck, I hope not...)

Since I'm coming out of the closet, so to speak, I'll also confess to never having seen Top Gun.  Or ever having the desire to see Top Gun.  As my husband said, "I saw Hot Shots first.  That was enough for me."  So, unless Ducky Dale is in Top Gun, cross-eyed with huge thick glasses, I remain steadfast in my desire to never see it.

I hope I've earned cool points for at least pretending to give a fuck, for knowing what a wookie is, and for thinking your Princess Leia costume is cool.  Mostly.  I hope my appreciation of Space Balls earns me a pass with at least a few of you.
And lastly, I hope we can all still be pals, now that you know my disturbing secret.  

Monday, December 12, 2011

I am a teenage boy.

Fucking mom.  Cleaning my room is conformist.
I hate everything.
"I am a teenage boy.

I am sensitive and volatile, and will turn on you at the slightest opportunity.

I will deliberately show up late for dinner, simply because I know it annoys you, and because I wish to show you how much control I have over my own environment.

I will refuse to wash myself for days on end, and resent you violently when you suggest a shower.  I'll take one, but I will do so with great hesitation, and with an obvious display of my disgust for you.

I will use everything you say against you.  If you ask me to pay attention to you while you're speaking, I will stare at you angrily, as you talk, and I will refuse to look away.  If you comment on this behavior, I will treat you like a crazy person, and remind you that "YOU TOLD ME TO PAY ATTENTION!  I AM PAYING ATTENTION TO YOU, LIKE YOU WANTED!"

If you punish me for rudeness, I will make you feel like an asshole, by pointing out that I was "just joking!"

I will sigh, roll my eyes, and stomp my feet as I walk away from you during a lecture.  I will then deny all three when you punish me.

I will lie thru my teeth.  About everything.  Especially about schoolwork, the cleanliness of my room, and the last time I brushed my teeth.  You are not allowed to be angry with me, or to punish me, when you find out I've been lying.  If you try, I will sigh, roll my eyes, and stomp my feet as I walk away, and of course, I will deny all three.

I will work diligently at keeping an odd smell permeating from my bedroom.  This is both from lack of personal hygiene, and my refusal to wash my clothes.  I also will not wear deodorant.  Ever.  Your requests for a remedy to these things will lead to my refusal to speak to you, audible sighing, and eye rolling.  Again.
I will deny all three.  Again.

I will insist, regardless of the truth, that I did "nothing" all day at school.  If there is a bomb threat and three fires, I will still answer "nothing" when asked what I did at school on that particular day.  This will also be my answer when I am visibly sad, angry, or "emo", and you ask me what is wrong.  I will also appear to become more sad, angry, or "emo" after I am asked.  Your insistence that I can confide in you will lead to eye rolling.
Which of course, I will deny.

If you ask me to put on a coat, I will insist that it's not cold out.  Hypothermia be damned, I will not let you think you told me what to do.  This also applies to summertime, when you suggest I take off my black hoodie and put on some shorts.

I will deliberately disagree with you.  If you say something is black, I will say that it's gray.  Or very dark blue.  I will continue to look for an opportunity for disagreement in every single statement you make.  I am smarter than you.  You are stupid, everything you say is wrong, and I will prove it, regardless of the ludicrous statements I might have to make.

My life, and the things happening in it, are the greatest crises in human history.  No one has ever felt as sad as me.  No one has ever had problems as big as mine.  No one can relate, in any way, to anything I might be going thru.  I am the first.  I will be the last.  I am important in my suffering.

If forced to do chores, I will do so half-heartedly, in an effort to show you how bad I am at each particular task, hoping that you will stop asking me.  If you point out my half-hearted efforts, you are a jerk.  Eye rolling and sighing.

If I show interest in speaking with you, this is a trap.  Don't talk.  Do not offer input.  Just smile, and act like everything I say is the most ingenious bit of conversation you've ever heard.  Say nothing.  Or eyes will roll.  Again.

I am a teenage boy.  Your input is useless and resented.  Please just buy me food, clothes, and don't acknowledge me unless I speak directly to you, and maybe not even then.   Probably not even then."


I am the mother of a teenage boy.

I am the most uncool person on the planet.

My grasp of the weather, namely "hot" vs. "cold", is entirely skewed, and I do not know the difference between "coat weather" and "shorts weather."

I am moderately paranoid, and I hallucinate signs of aggression, such as eye rolling, loud sighs, and being ignored.  I also hallucinate smells, such as armpit odor, dirty laundry, and general grossness.

My idea of  "clean" is warped, and I maintain unreasonable demands upon the tidiness of the rooms in my home.  Also note that I employ slave labor, and force my children to load the dishwasher, wash their own laundry, and clean their own rooms.  I am an unreasonable tyrant.  

Everything I say is drastically, and embarrassingly wrong.  I must be corrected on even the slightest infraction, such as, mispronunciation of a word, whether or not a movie is good, and what day of the week we last ate turkey.  I am a crazy person.  Or maybe I am just a moron."
"Crazy person."  See also "moron.  See also, "mother of a teenage boy."
Stupid, stupid woman.   


Welcome to being the parent of a teenager.  Abandon all hope...

...for a little while.  Because sometimes, there are moments of absolute awesome.  When the kid you're sure is the biggest dickhead on earth suddenly reminds you that there's still a little bit left of your sweet baby boy, and that there's a little bit of him that's growing into a sweet man.
It makes all the "I am a teenage boy" moments absolutely worth it.  Body odor and all.

I'll let you know when the next one of those moments arrives.