Ramas de Sed

I am stuck in random daydreams today. It's almost like the Universe is playing a trick on me, some sort of cosmic mind-fuckery. After two days of sitting at my desk, dreaming about sunshine and the comforting heat that summer brings, I catch a showing of "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" and I'm at once lost in the gorgeous scenery and sensuality of Spain.

I told someone on the phone this morning that I've been feeling really emotional lately. While I've been slightly more sensitive the past couple of days, I've been able to keep a perspective about it that is grounding and secure. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm like the walking wounded. Songs make me cry, everything I feel is so acute. Normally this type of vulnerability would be very difficult to maneuver but I find that I'm finally able to use this state of being as a tool to progress and evolve.

A lot of new emotions have been bubbling to the surface lately and I'm grateful that I've got outlets to work through these complicated feelings. Between running, painting, and this blog - I've created some very therapeutic means of expressing myself.

This rain must stop soon. I think it's throwing me for a loop .... I'm restless and anxious. I ache for sunshine, heat and predictability. I've grown weary of the constant teasing and taunting. The hot and the cold, the flux and flow of uncertainty. I've been advised to enjoy the ride and adjust my expectations. But that's not the way I'm hardwired. In fact - my circuitry goes directly against that school of thought.

Until I can quell the triple lutz in my heart and head, I'll take respite in the dancing fantasies of sitting in a quaint European cafe, smoking cigarettes that don't cause cancer, sipping cocktails that never lead to hangovers and spending my days chasing whatever impulses and urges my little bohemian heart can muster.

Ramas de sed
by Limam Boicha

Bajo la sombra de una acacia espinosa
dos cuerpos juntos tartamudean
ante su desnudez,
mientras medio desierto
los separa de ma al-ayún.
En la Bahía de Santiago
alguien golpeó un tambor
y gritó mágicas palabras primitivas
en hasanía o amárico
en mandinga o castellano.
Desde la fuente de Canaletas
llegó una misiva en calatán,
con mapa y todo,
anunciando que ese camello perdido
sin letra ni fuego
puede ser un tonel de agua.

Seven Turns on the Highway

I'm a bit of an obsessive-compulsive. Those of you who know me are probably thinking I've just stated the obvious, but for those of you who are new to the manic world of Tish, I thought I'd just put it out there.

Running has become a new passion of mine. There are few things I obsess over ..... sometimes I get hooked on people, sometimes I fall in love with an idea but few things keep my attention for long. Right now I am fully enthralled with painting and running.

Last night when the Hubbs came to bed, we started yapping about a few housekeeping items and before I knew it, he was fast asleep and I was wide awake. The next thing I knew I was visualizing the next day's run, pondering how many miles I could go and how long it would take me. I thought about the half marathon I committed to this coming October, the music I would listen to and what it would feel like to run 13 miles at once.

And then my mind moved to all the things I learned in a recent acrylics class. The urge to jump out of bed & experiment with all my new materials was almost overpowering. I feel like I learned enough in one class to propel my work in a whole new direction. Colors danced in my head, I saw swirls and fades, layers and hidden meanings. It's almost as if I'm possessed and my urges won't be satisfied until I finally submit and go into a painting frenzy.

During these times I'm reminded of how self-indulgent both of these hobbies can be and how much they require me to withdraw and delve into my own little fantasy world. Each are paths I take to thought analysis, interpretation and expression. During my running, I pound the pavement and explore thoughts and ideas that make an hour run seem like only minutes. I expend restless energy, frustration and dissatisfaction - all while burning calories.

Painting is a process in which I seek out some of the deepest emotions that I carry inside - sometimes it's my sadness over the loss of my dear Grama, sometimes I'm lost in a sea of regret, a mile of hope or a world of intense passion and love. It is my way through, my way forward.

I always struggle with the guilt that comes with taking chunks of time expressly devoted to "me." I feel as a Granddaughter, Mother and Wife there are always at least three other people who need me and want my time. And for so many years I gave it to them and I ended up squeezing so much joy out if it because I was miserable. At least I know now that whatever time we spend together is much more pleasurable because I'm actually happy.

I know that these things aren't really about weight loss but they speak to the problem that a lot of women have with taking the time they need to feel good about themselves, whether it's enjoying a hobby, working out or just sitting with a friend to talk. I never used to do these things. My time was spent erratically chasing distraction, food and conflict. And you can clearly see that I carried that conflict on me like a pissed off fat suit. For your viewing pleasure - I have posted my "before" photos:





The first picture is a profile shot (sort of) of me and the Baby Boy on family trip to Seattle. I wanted to burn that picture as soon as I saw it.

The next two shots were taken in 2003 during a trip with my brother-in-law to Tahiti. I must admit it wasn't easy going to such a beautiful country while walking around in a body that was the picture of sadness. I tried really hard to hide my depression and have a good time despite how crappy I was feeling.

And for shits-n-giggles, here is a recent pic of me:



This picture was taken a couple days after my 33rd birthday and as you can plainly see, I was feeling like the bee's knee's that evening :-)

Anyways - progress, not perfection, right? Tomorrow is a new day and another opportunity to succeed or sabotage. I'll be taking steps between now and then to make the right choice.

I hope you do too.

Some days are just an epic win.

My journey to where I am now has been a long one. The only thing that was constant was my state of denial.

During high school I was a swimmer in great shape and I had a very athletic build. I was convinced I was as big as a house. And truth be told I've never been a small girl, I've been muscular and lean but always curvy and well ...... I've always had a big rack and a good amount of junk in my trunk.

At 18-years old I moved into my own apartment and made the foolish decision to quit my courses at community college and join the full time workforce. It didn't take long for my sedentary lifestyle and poor food choices to catch up to me. All throughout my twenties the pounds slowly crept on. At 23-years old I gave birth to the Baby Boy and my weight gain hit warp speed. Within his first year of life I gained 50lbs and even then, my denial kept me in the dark and enabled me to continue to gain.

About 4 years ago I realized that I was morbidly obese and that my chances of living to a normal life expectancy were slim.

Each day became a battle between two forces in my head. One side said, "You're not that big, you can lose it anytime you want to!" and the other side said, "you are disgustingly overweight and no one could love you at this size." It also didn't help that for most of my life, I surrounded myself with people who only reinforced the ugly ideas running around in my head and heart. Day to day, my mood was totally dependant on whichever side was loudest. This constant tug-of-war kept me motionless and disabled.

That was 55 lbs. and what feels like an entire lifetime ago. I am a very different person now, but I still have a long way to go.

A trainer once told me that he admired my determination and that he was confident I’d never give in. And he was right. Some days I win and some days I break even, but I’ll never give up.

Denial still rears its ugly head. Like this morning - I got up at 7am and selected the outfit I wanted to wear, laid it out on my bed and went about my morning. When I grabbed my light brown trousers it didn’t dawn on me that it had been a while since I had last worn them. I quickly pulled them up and just about fell over when I realized that they were way too big to wear. And I'm not talking about unflattering ……. I'm talking fall-to-the-floor massive.

I could not believe it. I was shocked that I ever fit into those pants and that at one time they were actually TIGHT. I turned around and tried to find another pair of pants until I realized that every single pair I owned were too big.

After work I hustled over to Macy's and had a little shopping spree. I bought dresses, skirts and pants and all items were from the 2nd floor women's department. No more plus sizes.

I felt like a winner.

Passionate Beginnings

Oh Tuesday, you wicked tease. You're not a hump-day and you don't suck as much as Mondays, yet you're kind of just there. Making the most of this Tuesday was a tall order. For some reason I'm just tired. Like body/mind/soul tired.

My exuberance over the sunshine has been at an all time high. I think it's a combination of excitement about feeling the heat on my skin and knowing that I'm at a weight that's the lowest since before the baby boy was born - and he's going to be ten years old this summer. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no plans of parading around in a bikini anytime soon - I haven't lost that much. But I do feel like I'm finally at a more "normal" weight. Not morbidly obese, not obese looking. And so there's a whole world opening up in front of me. This world has always been there and I probably should of been strong and confident enough to experience these things no matter the number on the scale ... but now I have the energy for it. I never thought 35 lbs. would make that big of a difference but it really is major.

The biggest difference has been on the running trail. My body still absorbs the impact when I run but it's nothing like it used to. And I'm hoping that with each pound lost, my running will be less and less uncomfortable. For now - 3.5 miles today has left me with sore knees and muscle fatigue.

I'm realizing that during the past few months, while my body lightened up, my mood did as well. But that lift was temporary because the confidence I was feeling has since faded. I look in the mirror and I'm back to seeing nothing but my faults and imperfections. I'm fearful that no matter how much I lose, it'll never be enough. At what point will I finally accept myself?

When I was 8-years old I used to spend a lot of time at my Grandparents - they were my whole world. I had my own room with floor to ceiling mirrors. I have vivid memories of examining my appearance in those mirrors, acutely aware of my shape and size. I would lay down on my back and suck in my stomach so that my bony ribs would protrude straight up and I remember thinking, "this is what I'm supposed to look like" and then standing up and thinking how far I had to go to get there. Little 8-year old girls shouldn't be thinking about such things. But thanks to some very broken and mean spirited young girls in my Catholic school, I was painfully aware of body's imperfections at a very young age.

I guess my point is - I have to do the serious internal work so that I don't end up being the 33-year old version of that little girl on the floor in front of the mirror. Without learning to love myself - the number on the scale is only a small victory. My desire to live long enough to watch my baby boy grow into a man will carry me to my desired weight. But that's only half the battle.

I must fix this broken heart of mine.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Confession time: I'm a hopeless romantic. I think about love all the time, whether it's love of something new, an old friend or a new piece of clothing. I fall in and out of love daily, sometimes minute by minute. And I guess that's what has brought me here to the blogging universe. A narcissist's dream come true.

The funny thing is that while I may love like there's no tomorrow, all that love is usually directed outward, towards you. And it's very rare that my love is directed back at me. I've yet to master love of self. But has anyone figured out how to really do that? Seems like most people I talk to battle with issues of self esteem and struggle to find their own unique self-worth. And yet I see how wonderful you are, how beautiful and valuable you are. Each of you possess a quality that makes me love you dearly. You can be bat shit crazy and I'll still love you.

So I guess that's why I'm blogging, to get out those feelings of doubt, those moments of accomplishment, to rant, to rave, to be a shameless exhibitionist.

This blog will always share way too much information. If you don't want to see or witness the nitty gritty of my psyche, log off and never look back. If you're hoping to see someone open up and expose those parts of themselves that most keep hidden, then welcome - take a seat, get comfy and let's get to it. I'm hoping you'll find something you can relate to because at the end of the day, for me, this life is about connection. I want to find strands of comfort, familiarity and humanity with each one of you.

I've seen a lot in my 33 years. I've loved till I was crazy, fought till I was tired and my past is as vast and varied as someone twice my age. With each chapter I've collected a few people, a couple bruises and some great stories.

I'm in the process of losing weight, redefining who I am and trying to improve on the parts of me that I know make up my core . I'm proud of how far I've come but I know I have a long way to go. I'm a food addict, a drama queen ... I laugh really loudly and talk even louder. I am flawed, I am kind, sensitive and strong, your basic thirty-something hot mess.

Let's hang out.