Bend (beyond ropes)

I crossed the line.  The earth did not shatter. 

That line was my SAFE line on the scale.  Kind of stupid, but I had to CBT some sense into my thinking and writing it out into poem form really helped.

My fears were delusional.  I do NOT NEED a hundred plus pound “cushion” to protect myself anymore. 

Facts are:
1.  I am not a defenseless child anymore.
2.  I am an old woman now.  Time itself is a blessing.
3.  No one has tried to rape me when I weighed over 100 lbs.  No one has tried to force me over 200 lbs.
4.  Age & fat do not eliminate all unwanted advances, but there is a definite inverse math thing going on.  The older/heavier you are, the less often a woman has to deal with that. 
5.  I can and have warded off unwelcome advances, so telling myself that I don’t know how to deal with that bull is a lie.  Quite simply, I hate being hit on.  I don’t want to have to deal with any of that.

Do I have sexual issues?  No, I have issues with total jerks, drunken assholes, and pedophiles. 

It is funny how the mind works.  I have hovered just above that “safe” line all summer, self-sabatoging (not always conciously) every time I was about to cross it until I realized what was going on.  So stupid to have so much nonsense attached to a particular number.

I’m not scared anymore.  I don’t “need” fat anymore.  Crossing the line or maybe writing the poem “Ropes” brought peace and clarity. 

OH… by the way, having a clear head is wonderful.  I have made some life altering decisions, including a relocation.

Yes, I am moving! 

It is not a 100% done deal yet… but I have already given notice to my current landlord and started downsizing and packing up to move to a smaller space in a much desired location.  It will be a life changer.  I don’t want to say too much about it yet because it’s not a done deal yet, don’t want to jinx it.

Well, that’s what I have been up to… life is about to spin on a dime with some much anticipated changes and once again, I am slow to blog and very behind on blog reading.

Yo, anyone local want to buy a large mosaic lady for their flower garden?  If so, make me an offer… my life is about to spin on a dime and I can’t take her with me. 

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That’s an old photo from before she went outdoors.  I can snap more if anyone is interested… or come see in person.  She requires a dedicated dolly to move her, just wrap her in a heavy blanket and strap her down, roll her on out.  She’s been moved 3 times, twice in moving vans.  The last time, it took two men to lift her onto a pickup truck. She’s heavy, a bit crude, but belongs where the sun can sparkle on her glass, surrounded by flowers.

Screened Words

I wrote my way through a tangle of thoughts, both on real and virtual paper.  I wrote new blog posts, but clicked on the trash can symbol to delete my words while they were still in draft status here in my cell phone app.  I scribbled words on the back of junk mail envelopes, scrap paper, and index cards, pages torn out of journals and spiral notebooks.  I wrote until the words sighed in the wee hours of the night, and wrote until I ran out of ink and had to search the house down to find another pen.  Three pens hit the trash, exhausted and unable to write more.

Then I began to write again, sifting and sorting my thoughts out in poem form as if understanding will occur if it rhymes.

Have you ever snapped a photo through a window screen? 

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Funny how eyes focus on the little song birds who love the sunflowers, while the cell phone camera is focused on the window screen.

That is how my thoughts were… I could see the understanding I needed obsured by a screen so I had to write my way through it. 

I found peace and clarity in writing the poem.  Although it is done, it needs to rest a bit before sharing as it has flaws… is “tornatic” a word?  I think not… and it has a couple mixed tenses that would make an English professor groan, but I might let it slide. 

Besides, it is an awfully long poem, perhaps too long to post on a blog, as typed up single spaced runs four pages long.  I printed it out on two sheets set for two columns and snail mailed it to a trusted friend and fellow blogger (although he hasn’t blogged lately due to a broken machine, his laptop crashed when it hit the floor) and then I found myself avoiding the main topic when he texted, able to discuss the flashback part of the poem, but not the current situation for which the flashback yielded the clarity.

I’m just not ready to share.  Does that make sense? 

Maybe I need to take it to poetry night at Meta, read it out loud first.

The thing is… writing is so vital to the process of recovery.  Writing is a means of gaining clarity and understanding when peace of mind is so desperately needed.  Keep writing.

Shrinking into Me

Who is that person who kind of looks like me? 

As I stare at the image in the photograph, a strange thing starts to happen.  I begin to expand.  I begin to feel the dimensions of my body, bare my own weight.  It feels puffed like a overblown balloon about to burst.  Or a surgical glove.  Pop!  Air into fingers.  So much pressure swelling outward.  I don’t like it.

I study the photograph.  Where’s my sharp chin line? My skinny neck?  The dent between my collar bones?  How can this be?  That’s not what I see in the mirror. 

The swelling into myself continues.  Oompa or is it umpha?  Please Mr. Wonka, please, oh please ask your little friends to roll me to the juicer.  I can’t stand this anymore.  It feels awful.

Do I really look like that?  It looks like I haven’t lost an ounce, must less 72 pounds.  Oh sheez… people are asking me all these stupid questions about my weight loss so this is obviously smaller than it was before?  Oh gosh, what did I look like before?

That sexy lace trimmed shirt looks… matron-ish on me.  I felt like how the model looked when I put it on.  What was I thinking? 

It took several days to feel like me again.  When I feel like me, I look like me, the me only I can see.  The image is not toothpick thin, so it is not too far removed from reality. 

I don’t understand how this happens.  It is more than an optical illusion because I can feel it.  I don’t “live” inside my entire body. 

I signed up for five sessions of cognitive behavior therapy to help me stop bingeing.  The objective has been met, yet therapy has resumed and shall continue as I’ve got to learn how to deal with some things that I never really learned how to deal with before.

The questions make me feel exposed.  It is not a secret anymore.  Someday, the symptom of excess weight will be all gone, then the world will see what I see in the mirror.  I cannot imagine my inner self skrinking as my body shrinks so I am thinking the image thing will merge with reality when my actual physical dimensions reflect with how I see myself in the mirror.  I don’t know yet.  Guess we will find out.

Thanks for reading.