30 Days of Blogging, Day 7: Eat This Blog

It's been a hard day in the world. I don't have a lot to write, and I'm not feeling particularly prolific today, so this is going to be a short and fluffy post. Hit me in the comments. You'll win a participation metal.

To preface this post, you'll need to watch the video at this link to completion (and for the love of God someone teach me how to embed a video from Twitter to Blogger).

Don't forget to speak loudly so I can hear you. I'll pay you in hard candies.

I'll wait.

All good?

Don't tell me we're good if we're not good.

Did you watch it?

Okay, I trust you.

Here we go:

DON'T. TOUCH. MY. FOOD.

Unless you have received a clear invitation from me to delicately taste a petit sampling of my delicious dish which I have agonized and second-guessed to unhealthy extremes since the waiter whisked away with my order--do not touch my food.

Unless you and I have entered into a verbal contract that we are meant to be sharing this dish--do not touch my food.

Unless I have had to flee due to tend to some kind of medical emergency or matter of national security and I didn't have the forethought to have my food packaged up to go--do not touch my food.

Do you think Liz would share her Mac and Cheetos?

What, am I some kind of greedy food monster? A selfish-Sally who never learned the concept of sharing? Maybe a little--but mostly it's due to a bizarre neurosis when it comes to my eating habits.

Now I'd place bets that there are a lot of folks who have odd little eating habits. In order to make this a safe space to share, I will share with you some of mine:

1) Did I mention I struggle with sharing?

2) I make a plan for how I will consume my food before I eat it. For example, if I have, say, a piece of chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas on my plate, there is a predetermined order in how this is going to go down. Scoop of potatoes, each bite gently pressed into the peas then enjoyed. Chicken, while delicious, is given attention last since it is not a delicious starch. The order is always: vegetables, starch, protein.

Look at this work of art, waiting to be consumed from right to left--the way God intended.

3) I eat one thing at a time. With the exception of dipping potatoes into peas, I enjoy one thing at a time, carving a path to the item I've decided to save for last. It was once pointed out to me by a close friend that this is freaking odd. I still struggle with that concept. Why not take your time and enjoy each component of your plate without cross-contaminating? This, I was told, was not normal eating behavior, and that the correct way to eat is to graze throughout the plate; a bite of this, a couple bites of that. That stressed me out; however, due to my epic admonishment I began to develop a bit of of a shame complex when eating in front of other people. Eating with friends requires a constant inner monologue that usually goes as follows--don't eat one thing at a time...okay you took a bite of this, take a break--don't go back to soon!!!--okay go to the chicken--you're doing a good job--do I look stressed out?--oh God, they know--I'm a freak!

Is it paranoia or narcissism? Why can't it be both?

4) I struggle with guilt every time I eat. I'm in a constant state of self-judging. As a person who has struggled with both my weight and bullying, I am always in a state of fear that people are judging me, even when I'm hungry. There's always a fear that if someone sees what I'm eating that they will observe and judge not only what I eat, but how I eat. Don't eat too fast--you'll look like a pig and they'll see you and then they'll know you're an actual pig--don't eat too much--don't order too rich food--be sure to leave something on your plate so you don't look greedy.

Time to move and change my name. Again.

My relationship with food is steeped in neurosis and in a constant state of evolving.

I'm figuring it out.

Your turn. What's your thing? Hit me in the comments.

30 Days of Blogging, Day 6: Of Monsters and Me

The other night as I spent time with a bottle of wine I pondered the idea of monsters. About an hour in I typed in the middle of the screen: "What if I am the real monster?" After staring at that statement on the screen I laughed for 5 minutes straight and ordered a pizza and forgot to write. 

In the traditional sense of monsters, like the ones who lurk under children's beds, I have only truly been afraid of one "monster": Skeletor. What isn't terrifying about a flesh-less, talking skull with a beefcake, ripped body whose soul mission is to kill He-Man and She-Ra? Those chicks were hot.

Wait, weren't they brother and sister? What's with all the sexual tension?

Outside of my "Masters of the Universe" fear, my monsters have always been very grounded in reality. Now when I say reality I use it in the very loosest sense of the word. I wasn't terrified of fantastical monsters: I was, and still kind of am, terrified of the monsters I build up in my head.

I blame two things: the evening news and Unsolved Mysteries. And my parents. 3 things. I blame 3 things. Rescue 911, Unsolved Mysteries, my parents, and my brother. 4 things. I blame 4 things.

When it came to Unsolved Mysteries, I wasn't afraid of the things that happened; I wasn't afraid of aliens, or being kidnapped, or murdered. I was afraid of Robert Stack. Did that man realize how terrifying he is?

Don't tell me seeing this dude step out of an alley wouldn't make you pee your pants.

I recall a very vivid nightmare when I was 10 that my father and brother were trying to murder me, and I ran into my room where it had been transformed into a steamy ally and Robert Stack walked out in a fedora and trench coat and straight up stabbed me. That was the crazy shit going on in my head when I was 10.

My other monster was, and still is, disease. I was an early adopter of hypochondria. My first case was HIV. I would have been probably 7 or 8 when I first recalled hearing about HIV on the news, which my dad insisted we watched every day, so I'll be sending him my therapy bills. I of course didn't know how to get it and didn't know the symptoms, but I was pretty sure I had it from that one time I didn't wash my hands.

Every single time I had a cold it was a countdown to the end of my life. I would lay in bed at night terrified to fall asleep because I was afraid I wouldn't wake up, which lead to my very real condition of insomnia. I once read a book about a girl who found out she had leukemia after a nasty nose bleed; I got a nose bleed (from picking my damn nose too much) and I sat up all night until the sun came up. I almost choked on rice one night at dinner and I didn't eat for a week. I think my parents didn't really take exception to this, since they wanted me to lose weight.

I'm one neuroses from my goal weight!

My hypochondria isn't as bad as it used to be. My most recent episode was when I thought I had M.E.R.S. (Middle Eastern Respiratory Syndrome) a few years ago, because I got the flu and I was working with interns who traveled to work in Seattle from all around the world. My brain rationalized this and as I insisted to the doctor that I absolutely had the MERS. Between her trying to catch her breath from laughter she told me it was impossible, there are no cases in the US and I just have boring old flu. Didn't she know how special I am?

All these little monsters: diseases, spiders, Robert Stack--those have been manageable. I've never really been afraid of the real monsters in the world, not until recently.

I have a new feeling I've never experienced before: a jumpiness, and feeling of being unsure of the people around me. Every time I log on to social media or watch the new, a feeling powerlessness creeps over me, followed by a deep, profound anger. Pulse. Alton Sterling. 250 dead in Baghdad. I'm so angry I can't find tears to shed because they're being burned out of me. When I think of the possible solutions I get even angrier because I know there are mighty people with a lot of money that fight the best solutions. Those are the real monsters. The ones who can make things better but won't. 

I wish my biggest fear was still Robert Stack. 

30 Days of Blogging, Day 2: Mac and Cheetos and the Spiral of Shame

There must be a million reviews of Burger King's newest contribution to garbage food fusion cuisine, but none of those reviews will be as deeply steeped in shame as this one.

Where were you when I was pulling into the drive-thru?

Did you know that no matter what time you leave on a Friday before 4th of July weekend your drive home will be inexplicably long? Like, "I should consider stopping for sustenance" long? Just as I had this thought I was rolling by a Burger King.

This is where the shame spiral begins.

I was just going to get a soda.

Maybe a soda and some fries.

Maybe a soda, some fries, and a Junior Whopper.

Maybe a soda, scratch the fries, onion rings instead, and a Whopper with cheese and bacon, and...do they have milkshakes?

Maybe a chocolate milkshake, onion rings, a double Whopper with cheese and bacon and...OHMYGOD MAC AND CHEETOS?!?!

No caption needed. 

Scratch the milkshake, onion rings and Whopper: shit's about to get real here. 

I ordered one order of the Mac and Cheetos, which comes with 5 pieces. And a soda. And a Whopper, for a palette cleanser. 

I noticed a slight embarrassed tone as I said, "Mac and Cheetos"; as if when ordering them requires a certain amount of remorse or you won't get your food. 

I asked the gal at the window if she'd tried them. She nodded and half-shrugged with a look on her face that said, "They made me try it, and I'm not supposed to say it's terrible, but I also hate lying, so this is all I'm able to muster up without losing my job."

It was a drive-by Meh-ing

I couldn't wait to get home to try one, so I the pulled the box out as soon as I pulled way. 

I love that it comes in it's own little purse. You don't want it to touch anything like clothes, fabric, or skin.

It's not a product slogan, it's a warning.

At first glance, they look like the puffy variety of Cheetos, which took me back to many hazy-roomed nights in my early twenties waxing poetic of how much more delicious the puffy Cheetos are because of how good they feel with cotton mouth. Yes, that's a conversation I had. 

At second glance, they started to remind of the nuggets I scoop after Popeye every morning. I tried not to dwell on their cat-poop similarities too long, because I really wanted to try this crap.

Does it matter that product development at Burger King is run by cats?

They smell nothing like Cheetos, and more like Goldfish Crackers or Cheez-Its. When I bit into it, it was a bit stale, like it had been sitting under a heat lamp for quite some time. The mac and cheese on the inside was like (and probably actually was) Kraft Mac and Cheese.

Is this what I look like on the inside now?

Pretty salty, Kind of creamy. Kind of crunchy. Savory. Might be really good with beer--oh man. Oh no.

I wasn't supposed to like them. I was supposed to try them to be ironic in the incorrect sense of the word. They weren't supposed to be crunchy, creamy, salty little fried nuggets of pasta that I want all the time. 

Further down the shame spiral I go. 

Shut. Up.

Overall, they're fine. They're a shameful, yummy embarrassing to order and eat in public treat and it's a good thing there's only one Burger King in the Seattle metropolitan area. 

I'd go further into the pitfalls of eating fast food while I'm struggling with depression and trying to eat food that's better for my body, but why be a bummer about something that's, let's be honest, is kind of whimsical and delightful?

This bitch...

The food of my enemy is my enemy.

image source: McDonald's. Please don't sue me.

 

Date: May 2, 2013 Time: 11:27 am
Current state: Unfocused
Location: The Office
Weather: Supe's pretty

Today's menu :
*SIGH* McDonald's Egg White Delight McMuffin, a hash brown, and a coffee
Afternoon
 (running to Trader Joe's)
Frozen Lunch
Salad
Apple
Evening
Chicken Pho
Beer
1 square of chocolate

Oh McDonald's, how do you always manage to place yourself right in my commute path?

This morning I was (as usual) running late, and hungry. In my new neighborhood there is a McDonald's just a couple blocks from where I live, and as I was driving by this morning I saw a sign for their new Egg White Delight McMuffin. This is literally just a regular Egg McMuffin without a yolk and white cheese instead of yellow. All this being said, I thought to myself, "Oh, that's healthier!", and turned into the drive-thru. I ordered the Egg White Delight McMuffin and a cup of coffee, and the person taking my order asked if I wanted to make it a combo. Here's how that conversation went between the angel and the devil on my shoulder:

Devil: Ooo, if you get the combo you'll get the hash-brown!

Angel: You don't need the hash-brown, the sandwich and coffee is plenty.

Devil: Oh, but it's so much more cost effective if you get the combo.

Angel: But you're still paying more money to eat deep fried, genetically engineered potato cake. AND you know you'll get a stomach ache from eating all this heavy food.

Devil: Mmm, deep fried genetically engineered potato cake - *drooool*

So I got the combo. I ate my breakfast while sitting in traffic on the West Seattle bridge, and just as the angel on my shoulder said, I had an immediate stomach ache.

Before anyone asks: Yes, I have seen Super Size Me. No, I have not seen Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead (and I don't plan to). Yes, I know that McDonald's is the epitome of everything wrong with health in America. I get it, I get it, I get it. It's just so. Darn. CONVENIENT.

My problem is that I wasn't prepared. I knew I was out of breakfast items at work (which I'm replenishing today), and I was going to have to hit the ground running when I got in. As my father always said, "Poor preparation is the perfect path to panic", and when I don't plan ahead, or in this case when I don't have what I need on hand, I make bad choices.

So, lesson learned. That was then, this is now. No guilt. Learn, move on.

What's your temptation when you're not prepared? Share in the comments!

Summer out.

Can't win for losing

Date: April 29, 2012
Time: 10:33 am
Current state: Caffeinated
Location: Work
Weather: Bipolar(sunny, cloudy, warm, cold)

Today's Menu:
Morning
Cheerios, skim milk
Coffee w/whole milk and Equal
Mixed nuts
Afternoon
Frozen lunch from TJ's
Bowl of carrots
Whole wheat pretzels
Almonds
Evening
Whole wheat pasta with pesto, artichoke hearts, spinach and tomatoes
Red wine
Square of dark chocolate

I have to start out by thanking everyone that has reached out with words of support and encouragement. It's an important reminder that while even though I am responsible to make a change in my life, I'm not alone. If anyone reading this is thinking about making a change in their life, be it weight-loss, quitting smoking, or taking up the trapeze, surround yourself with a community of people who will support you. No wo/man is an island.

Yesterday a friend on Facebook posted this comic by Paige Hall (original work can be found here):

My reaction to this comic spans across several areas. The first is how we see and compare ourselves to others; be it someone in our everyday lives, or in the media (movies, ads, fashion, etc.). Second is how we feel others see us. Third is unrealistic expectations set by both the male and female gender. I would like to quickly touch on all three:

I would like to say I'm above comparing myself to others, and I would even like to say that I'm above judging others on what they're wearing or how they look. I wish I could say that I don't, but I do. Whether it's judging someone's outfit, or even their weight, I find myself drawing comparisons. It's almost like some sort of evolutional pecking order: the perceived beautiful pick on the less perceived beautiful, and the less perceived beautiful pick on the even less perceived beautiful; otherwise how are we supposed to feel good about ourselves if we don't perceive ourselves as more beautiful than someone else? To that I say: f*ck that sh*t. It's a pretty simplistic approach but an affective one, I feel.

I think back to my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Carter. I was crying because the kids were teasing me. I told her that the other kids hate me because I don't look like them. She looked at me and said, "That's right, you don't. You're not supposed to! You are exactly the way you are supposed to look, and they are the way they are supposed to look." Wise words, and easily forgotten. My wish for my fellow women is to embrace that ideology: you look the way you are meant to look. You are not supposed to look like Linda Carter. You're not supposed to look like that Victoria's Secret model. You are supposed to look like you. Take care of your body, but also love it as it is.

Summer out.*

*Do you ever find yourself judging others? Reply in the comments section.

Starting over, again...and again...and again...

Date: April 28, 2012
Time: 1:57 pm
Current state: Mildly apprehensive, hungry
Location: Oddfellow's Café, Capitol Hill, Seattle
Weather: Partially cloudy with a cool refreshing breeze

The other day I was perusing through the music catalogue on my Zune (yes, I have a Zune, and I love it), and I stopped on an album I haven't listened to in years: Lit's A Place in the Sun. I started playing "My Own Worst Enemy" and I burst into tears. "It's no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy/'cuz every now and then I kick the living sh*t out of me".

Over the course of my life, I have slowly learned to hate my own guts. "I'm not smart enough." Idiot. "I'm not very beautiful." Ugly. "I'm fat." Whale. Monster. Pig. Glutton. I am literally in hate with myself. When it comes to my health and body image, I am my own worst enemy.

Back in January I decided that I had let myself go too far, and it was time to start living again. I had gone on a trip with my family to Hawaii, and found that I couldn't do a lot of the things that I wanted to. For instance: walk. Walking from our room to the upper decks was physically spending for me, and I hated myself for it. "You're in Hawaii! You should be able to kayak and swim and run and play! Instead you're sitting by the pool icing your knees because walking is too hard. Whale." My weight was a constant topic of discussion, with my well-meaning family providing tips on what I can do to start losing weight. All I wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow me, so I didn't have to feel like I was a monster anymore. When I got home from Hawaii I had resolved it was time to start over...again.

As far back as I can remember, I haven't gone a single day in my life without thinking about my weight. Every time I take a bite of food I think, "Is this right? Should I be eating?", even if I am hungry. Every time I walk through the office or a public space I see people stare, and I feel embarrassed and angry. I even catch the people I care about staring at my gut.

I have spent a large sum of my life feeling like a circus freak. That is until a couple of weeks ago.

After resolving to take better care of myself after coming home from Hawaii I had started exercising more. I would walk around my neighborhood, go to the pool and do water aerobics, and I was eating better. I was starting to feel good, but my knees weren't. They were progressively getting worse; even when I was sitting or laying down, they really hurt. It had gotten to the point where I couldn't stand without my knees buckling, and I would fall down again. I started walking with crutches so I could still be mobile. When my new insurance kicked in, I finally went to the doctor who looked at me, without even taking an x-ray, and said "You'll feel better when you lose weight." I had weighed myself when I arrived at the doctor's office and found that I had actually lost 30 lbs. since the beginning of the year. I told the doctor that I knew I needed to lose weight, but I can't walk and I'm in pain. She sent me to a specialist. The specialist looked at me, without taking an x-ray, and said "You'll feel better when you lose weight." I burst into tears. I told him that I was trying, that exercising hurt, and that I was in so much pain I felt like I was losing my mind. He gave me cortisone shots, told me to lose weight, see a physical therapist and sent me on my way. I sat in my car and cried for an hour after that.

I had a lot of questions for myself. "How can I lose weight if I can't even move? How did I even get here? How could I let myself get this far? How do I live with myself? Monster. Pig. Whale. Glutton." I had brunch the following week with my cousin, K, and told her what was going on. After that we decided to email each other every day what we were planning on eating. The idea behind it was if I couldn't move, I could at least start being thoughtful about how I am eating, and that could be a start. She even packed snacks for me with times written on the baggies to eat healthy snacks throughout the day.*

One morning when I emailed her what I had for dinner the night before, I was saturated with guilt. I had Burger King for dinner because I worked late and I just wanted a burger. She wrote me back and said two words that completely upended me. "No guilt." What?! No guilt?! I'm not supposed to beat myself up until I hate myself again? That's when it occurred to me: I have spent so much time going on "diets", failing them, and giving up. Diet, fail, give up, hate myself. Diet, fail, give up, hate myself. I have been on a 32 year old downward spiral to where I was: obese and in hate with me.

I spent the rest of my day thinking about the concept of "no guilt". We are trained to beat ourselves up when we deviate from the path or expectations we have set, which almost always leads to a sort of "falling off the wagon". I ate fries, I may as well eat a whole pizza. For me, the concept of "no guilt" means: yes, I tripped up, but that was yesterday, and this is today. To dust off an old colloquialism, "Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater."

Since then I  have started to reconcile with myself. I am neither monster, whale, nor pig. I am who I am. No guilt. That part of my life is over; here begins a new journey. It's not going to be easy, and there will be times that I will stumble, but I'm not going to beat myself up.

This blog is not just a diary of weight loss; my hope for this blog is to become a guide towards self-acceptance, and maybe if I gain some readership, a guide for others as well. Every day I will post my menu and thoughts for the day. I would love for readers to ask questions via either the comment section or Twitter (@summerwaldo). Follow me on this journey, and maybe we'll learn something.

P.S.--I feel like this blog was super heavy today, so I would like to end it with a joke: Two strands of DNA were walking down the street. One says to the other, "Do these genes make me look fat?"

*I love you K.