This post contains a graphic and scary image – readers of a nervous disposition may not wish to continue…
I started out the week reading a book that made my eyes leak. A lot… After that I got rather contemplative and melancholy but I think I am coming back out of that now. Mainly induced by a certain amount of laptop rage, or more accurately lack of laptop. 1.5 days waiting for the IT team to resolve an issue caused by a 30 minute office upgrade that was meant to resolve a conflict caused by the upgrade in the first place. With another 2 days lost driving around the UK – MIdlands – Bracknell – Midlands – Washington – Midlands – I have had a somewhat unproductive week.
That goes for my reading too. Only 2.5 books so far this week compared to last weeks 5.5. Plus a cheeky short story at lunchtime, M.J. Arlidge’s ‘No Way Back’, a fab novella giving a little more insight into the events in Helen Grace’s childhood which helped to shape the woman she became. I fitted it in on my usual lunchtime trundle down to Chavda – have to get some exercise in somewhere.
Trying hard to stick to my diet this week. I only have a couple more pounds to lose until I am officially ‘healthy’ This morning I managed to fit my pygmy hippo backside into a pair of size ten jeans, shove a can of Pepsi in my front pocket and sit down, but according to the NHS experts I am still fat. Probably not the technical term – I believe that is ‘overweight’ – but it essentially means the same thing. If a size ten with room in tight jeans for a can of cola equals fat, then it’s no wonder so many young girls have issues with food. If I get much thinner (although I will admit to needing to tone my squidgy bits) I will start to look like Skeletor. I already hate that I am all angles, and scratching an itchy collar bone makes me feel ill as it feels so weird. I used to be cuddly. Ish. Apart from the fact I can’t stand cuddles and you would have needed arms like Mr Tickle to pull it off anyway. Now I am lumpy and bony. It’s not nice. And it’s bloody cold without the lard insulation.
Now, if you read any of my previous posts, then you probably know a) how fat I was and b) why I got that way in the first place. Don’t believe me – here is the evidence… The progression from Florida in April 2014 (far left), June 2015, part way through my journey, January 2016, my first ever park run and finally to May 2016.
2 things drove the weight loss. Number 1 was the death of my Mother. She had never looked after herself, had diabetes yet neglected her diet and smoked even after having a heart attack. She also wasn’t a particularly nice person. I’d been expecting to come home to find her gone so many times over the past few years and one day I finally did. It was both a shock and a release, but since then I have slowly moved on. That was one of the few times I had a damned good eye leak, until this week at least.
Number 2 was turning 40 last year. I had a trip to NYC planned and knew there was no way I would cope with walking all around Manhattan in my current state. So my sister and I went on our respective diets and motivated each other to keep going. 18 months and 7st later (and that’s each not between us) and our lives are very, very different. Well hers is. Mine is slowly starting to change but I still have a long way to go to really change my lofe, but I am determined to do it. And I would probably say that reading ‘Dear Mother’ by Angela Marsons has given me that extra little kick I need to keep on pushing hard.
i liike books. They give me a place to escape to. And, despite some earlier misgivings, I am enjoying writing my blog. One, it gives me a place to share my love for the books I read when my sisters and my colleagues are all tired of listening. PLus it gives me somewhere to vent, to say what I’m thinking and feeling. Cheaper than therapy, plus I’d never get this off my chest with someone on a one to one basis. Just not my style. So, if you’re still reading this, then know you are part of my healing and my therapy. Sorry about that.
I won’t say it’s not lonely being me, becuase it is. I won’t say that I won’t contnue to get that overwhelmed by being in large rooms full of people who I will be convinced are all in silent judgement of me (although in likelihood they probably only half notice the numpty sat in a corner looking either glum, distant or mostly confused), or that I won’t head back to my home/room/hotel and wonder why I bothered, fighting a depression and the real need to leak. And I mean really leak. Full on pink puffy eye, snotty nose, struggling to breathe leakage. Because I know I will. I did earlier this year. But I also know for a fact that I’ll get up the very next day and the day after that and the day after that because that’s one of the few useful things I learnt as a child.
No matter what life throws at me, I’m a fighter.
Happy Weekend Reading