Raw Emotion

I’m going to be honest here. Gut wrenchingly, brutally honest. This is something I just kind of discovered today. And it will likely just be rambling, because I need to get it out there to universe, so I apologize in advance….

I hate myself. I absolutely hate myself. I can’t stand to look in the mirror, I can’t stand to look at pictures. It makes me sick. It makes me feel like a failure. I KNOW how to lose weight. I’ve done it before. I know I CAN lose weight. SOMETHING, and I’m not sure what, but SOMETHING is holding me back. I think it’s because I don’t feel like I DESERVE to be think, that I DESERVE to lose the weight. I know I could probably benefit from seeing a therapist, but I can’t afford it. I don’t want to be this big anymore. I need to change it. But I feel like I’m unworthy of the change. And that just makes my self hatred that much stronger. And then I start eating my problems, my issues. And that helps absolutely nothing.

I want, so badly, to get this weight off me and to feel better about myself, to feel HEALTHY. I don’t want to feel like I’m embarrassing my kids because they have the fat mom, or like I’m embarrassing my husband (even though I know I’m not).


Reflections In A Window

Today, I found myself looking at my reflection in the window of my van.

I absolutely hated what I saw.

Why is losing weight, eating right, etc so fucking hard to do?

I know what to do. I know what needs to be done. But do I actually do it? Nope.

I hate myself. I hate my reflection. I hate seeing what I see every time I look down, look in the mirror, look at a picture.

Yet, I do nothing. I start, I stop. I always have my excuses.

It’s not good enough anymore.

Something has to give. I have to stop hating my reflection.

Secret Subject Swap

I joined up with the Secret Subject Swap, hosted by Karen from Baking In A Tornado. 12 blogger swap prompts and today, we reveal who got what. It’s like a monthly Secret Santa thing…..pretty cool.

http://BakingInATornado.com                            Baking In A Tornado

http://thesadderbutwisergirl.com                    The Sadder But Wiser Girl

http://www.eviljoyspeaks.wordpress.com                       Evil Joy Speaks

http://www.100lbCountdown.com                      100lb Countdown

http://followmehome.shellybean.com                    Follow me home . .

http://www.menopausalmom.com/                            Menopausal Mother

http://dinoheromommy.com/                              Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://stacysewsandschools.wordpress.com/            Stacy Sews and Schools

https://thisisdiscoveringme.wordpress.com/              Discovering Me

http://www.itsyummi.com                                      It’s Yummilicious

http://dates2diapers2.blogspot.com                                  Dates 2 Diapers

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/                       Confessions of a part-time working mom

My prompt came from Stacy at Stacy Sews and Schools and it was “What is the oldest memory you have?” Thanks for the prompt.

There are a lot I could think of. Some of them are good.

Some are bad.

All of them, however, are defining in some way or another.

My fear of roller coasters comes from my father having me look over the side of The Beast at Kings Island.

My love of music probably stems from the countless times I went with him to band practice.

My love of reading probably comes from being around books from an early age….something both my parents felt was important.

My fear of things that go bump in the night comes from a conveniently timed sound that drifted to my ears from the graveyard as I precariously picked my way through a field to my Grandmother’s house.

My fear of the unknown about the darkness stems from a fear of being sexually abused again.

MY fear of rejection and abandonment comes from my father picking his new family over me. From my mother picking her addiction over me.

My unending love for my family comes from a burning desire to do better, to BE better.

These are all early memories, but my FAVORITE memory? The one that I hold so dear to my heart?

The memory of a kitchen, in a small home, in a small town in a Southern state. The smells of a country dinner cooking on a natural gas stove. The anticipation of a meal after a Sunday morning church sermon. The light humming that floated from a woman as strong as a statue, who’s soul was more beautiful than the most beautiful painting. The feeling of her warm arms wrapped around me. The scent of her perfume, so very light and feminine. The sound of her voice as she said “Girly, I love ya.” The murmur of grace before a meal. The peace of laying on the porch swing, listening to the sounds of the country.

The ghost of a memory, though so strong I can almost taste the food, hear the sounds, feel the love. A woman taken too soon from this Earth. A loss I grieve daily.

A memory I pass to my own children, though they will never lay eyes on this woman.

The emptiness of that one singular thought.