Roar Like a Tiger & Stomp Like an Elephant

                                  The Diabetic’s Challenge 

December 18: The ultimate challenge for me is being a diabetic. No, I’m not talking about eating too much. I’m talking about eating too little. I have to take this insulin and if I take too much, my blood sugar drops. I really have trouble finding out the right amount of food to work with the right amount of insulin. When my blood sugar is low, I have to eat more, and that pushes my caloric count up. It’s a double danger. If I exercise, the same thing happens. My blood sugar drops, and I have to eat more to bring it up. I wish there was some sure-fire way of getting this thing right. It’s driving me crazy, and I am sick of it sabotaging my eating habits. It’s not enough for me to quit bingeing, although that’s always a struggle, but I now have to deal with this diabetes thing. I get so frustrated but I’m not sure I can beat this one anytime soon.

                                                 Skyrocket No Scales

December 19: Don’t blame just me for being fat because I have a legitimate reason. I slid into the world weighing ten pounds. I have a family history of fat people, too. Besides, that most of my life I’ve struggled with weight loss no matter how little I’ve eaten. I was never skinny, and I haven’t always been binger either. I’ve never seen food as entertainment like many people I know. There are many factors that contribute to weight problems for those people without skinny genes in their history. A dieter’s greatest enemy is those persuasive people. My mother used to cook great food and expect me to eat it. Cooking was part of her self-esteem and to have someone tell her that she’s cooked something great made her feel ten feet tall. She doesn’t cook anymore, and I’m not around to eat it anyway. And I must not leave out my husband. He’s the world’s worst. If I didn’t know he was a kind man, I would say he’s trying to sabotage my diet because of his need to feel good about himself. Imagine that. He insists on cooking but refuses to prepare the meals so I can eat without those scales sliding upward. In fact, yesterday I begged him not to make Brownies because they’re my weakness.

            He and Mom aren’t alone in their cooking self-esteem issues. Aunts, Grandmothers, friends, and even people who’ve invited me to dinner parties expect me to eat their cooking. It’s impolite to snub a cook by not eating her food. "Just taste it," she or he will say. It’s a personal affront. They’re always so proud of their culinary talents that they forget about my weight war. "Here have some cake." "Here, have some pie. It’s delicious." "Oh, there aren’t too many calories to make you fat." "Oh, one won’t hurt you." These are the same people who turn around and carp about fat people.

                                                Kiss Off Bake Off

December 20: Today, I’m wrestling with my own culinary delight. My favorite thing to bake is sweet potato pie. To bake or not to bake. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, I struggle with whether to bake these wonderful pies. I’m afraid the weakness might get a hold of me this year. I haven’t bought any ingredients, so if I forget them, that will solve my problems. It would be better if I forgot how to make the pie. That won’t help, I know.

                                            The Ultimate Weakness

December 21: My next greatest weakness is Russell Stover chocolates that everybody used to hand out at work and at parties. I use the excuse that it keeps my bowels open. They also make me less depressed on when I suffer from being "just a little purple." I’m not buying any Russell Stover candy, and I’m not going to any parties. I don’t work anymore because of disability. A good thing about not eating this sugar-laden candy is that it won’t run my blood sugar up. Being a diabetic, I can ill afford such thing, not to mention that it wreaks havoc on my weight. Chocolate is poison for me because I’m too weak to resist bingeing on it. It’s like a drug. I’m addicted. I’m addicted. I keep reminding myself of this, and it helps me to fight off the urge. If I go a month without chocolate of any kind, I’ll reward myself with a music CD or a comedy CD.

                                      Stymie Sugar Holiday

December 22: I will not buy any sugary holiday food at the grocery or the bakery today. I will not buy any sugary holiday food at the grocery store or the bakery today. I will not buy any sugary holiday food at the grocery store or the bakery today. I will not buy any sugary holiday food at the grocery store or the bakery today. I will not buy any sugary holiday food at the grocery store or the bakery today. I will NOT buy any SUGARY holiday food at the grocery store or the bakery today.

            Last night on 20-20, I saw a man who once weighed over 500 pounds, and today he’s at 200. That surely inspired me. If he can lose that much in two years, surely I can lose a hundred pounds by then.

                                            Buy No Evil Things

December 23: If my husband buys and cooks sugary holiday foods, I will refuse to eat them. If my husband buys and cooks sugary holiday foods, I will refuse to eat them. If my husband buys and cooks sugary holiday foods, I will refuse to eat them. My one problem is that he already has Brownie mix in the house, and I’ll have to kill him to keep him from baking those. I don’t want to go to jail, so I’m stuck with using will power not to eat any Brownies.

                                  Cross My Heart and My Stomach

December 24: I will not eat any Brownies today. I will not eat any Brownies today. I will not eat any Brownies today. I will not eat any Brownies today. I will not eat any Brownies today. I will not eat any Brownies. I will not eat any Brownies today. I will not eat Brownies tomorrow either. I will not eat Brownies tomorrow either. I will not eat Brownies tomorrow either. Cross my heart, but I won’t hope to die. It’s Christmas Eve, and my husband didn’t feel like making brownies; I didn’t have to suffer while watching him eat them. It’s so much easier when he doesn’t bake them.

                                            Heaven Help Me

December 25: Dear Lord, please let me have a good day today. A good day is a day when I don’t overeat Macaroni and cheese, dressing and turkey, greens, potato and chicken salads; chocolate, walnut, and red velvet cakes; sweet potato, pecan, and apple pies; crescent rolls. Please let me eat small portions of the less fattening food. Let me skip those appetizers of chicken wings, and the snacks of peanuts, fried zucchini; peanut brittle, chocolates, chips and dip.

            I know this is a lot to ask, but if you can see your way clear to help, I will be eternally grateful. I need this sensible eating as much as Philodendrons need water. Thank you in advance.

            We decided not to make a feast for Christmas. It’s just two of us, so we made a minimum of dishes, a turkey breast, dressing, potato salad, peas, apple pie, and I ate four small portions substituting carrots and pear cubes for dessert.

                                         Crush Cookies with a Cause

December 26: My refrigerator door has a magnet that pulls me to the door for the food beckoning. "Come on in; the food is good." Food is my friend when it nourishes my body with goodness from the Earth for healthiness and happiness. I love myself when I eat right, but I hate myself when I eat junk food because I know it would wind up on my derriere. When I feel weak I leave home for a safe place but strangely I end up somewhere that temptation is great. It’s similar to an addict chasing crack without planning to. "I ought to just blow up the refrigerator," I mumbled, "or build a shrinking machine. Wouldn’t that be cool?" I could patent it and make millions. Then I could go to one of those Club Meds for Weight Watchers, and later join an exclusive fitness club. Isn’t it strange what money does? It buys loads of conveniences…conveniences I need.

                                   Let the Sunlight Roll

December 27: Oh! to hear the murmur of an ocean wave rushing and rolling, caressing my mind. Oh! to step into the shafts of sunlight, passion flowers and orchids! Oh! to be thinner. Oh! To be normal weight again. I closed my eyes and float to a safe place where I could imagine weighing my ideal weight of 160 pounds. That’s fine for me because I will have lost half my body size at that weight. I’m still grateful for having lost 50 pounds, but sorry that I regained 10 of them. I go to a place where the gulls fly over a beautiful ocean, a place where the sand is white, or a place where I can sail on a yacht. Sounds of droplets softly pelting the foliage trickle gently on the leaves and fern. I stop dreaming and water my plants. I don’t know what name they are. So I call them Ruby 1, Ruby 2, and Ruby 3.

                                         Imaginary Skirmishes

December 28: It is sunny outside, but we are expecting a major ice and snow story tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to it. I spend too many days hibernating as it is. No, I don’t always hibernate because of the weather. My pain keeps me inside, and my physical appearance makes me not want to go outside. I feel like people are staring at me all the time. I believe that my imagination might be at play here because I’ve never really observed anyone staring. The feeling is there, and that is enough to warp my psyche.

                                          Write Off that Gluttony

December 29: Every day I write myself thinner. Through writing I psyche myself up and psychologically change my weight. Think thin is my mantra and daily message. I focus on thinness and what it takes to get there. When I’m focused, I don’t eat unnecessarily. I’m watching football tonight, and I’ve had six shrimps and six bite-size cranberry shortbread cookies. I know I wasn’t supposed to have them, but psychologically I am getting the sugar out of my head. I’m not punishing myself just yet. I am working toward making that commitment and teaching myself to eat sweets in moderation. If I succeed I will have conquered my biggest weight loss faux pas.

            I didn’t have to worry about overeating because I lost my appetite in this historical game between the New England Patriots and the New York Giants. They unbeaten Patriots finished the season with 16-0. If the Giants had won I would’ve celebrated. I hate the Patriots because I don’t like Tom Brady, although that long touch down bomb to Randy Moss impressed me. He missed the first pass, and Brady simply ran the same play twice. Randy caught it the second time around. I know, I know. I wasn’t supposed to have the cookies, but it was football, and I got hooked on sweets because the game was a good one. That’s how we get fat. We find any excuse to celebrate with sweets and other caloric foods. My weakness, as I’ve said before, is sweets. I could live on them, but I’m steadily pysched myself into believing that I don’t need them or like them anymore. For now, moderation of sugar is out. I don’t know if it will ever be in for me. I switched to sugar substitutes, and that helps but then I hear that they’re bad for me.

                                             Beating Back Addiction

December 30: I got off track yesterday and ate more than my allotted 1,200 calories. It was the scallop potatoes. My husband makes the best ones ever, and I love them. Instead of eating my one serving, I went back for seconds and thirds. I was so shocked that I forced myself to spend the evening writing in long hand rather than on the computer as I usually do. I hate writing in long hand, but I had to think of something to keep myself in line. I wish there was another means, but until the scales show a no-loss or a gain, that is it: Punishment. I remember when I lived in Moline, Ill., I used to punish myself for eating the wrong foods by exercising more. There I broke my addiction to sweets, especially chocolates. I told myself that chocolate was poison, and that I hated it. It worked until I met my husband and his frequent baking of chocolate cake, his favorite.

                                         Letting My Soul Sing

 

December 31: When I grew up, we had this thing called soul food. I thought it meant to eat until your soul sang, but now I know that soul food was all about love. Love of family, love of friends, and we showed our love by gathering to have a hearty meal. It is a tradition of blackness. Now, some of us are turned off by soul food while we eat heartily of Italian and Mexican foods, which are just as fattening and they have just as much salt. Soul food consisted of pork, which was salted like brine to keep it fresh. Greens were seasoned with pork, and so were black eyed peas and pinto beans, soup, and who knows what we didn’t put pork in. Now the healthy among us are using turkey or chicken in our greens and black eyed peas. Some of us use Splendor instead of sugar for our sweet potato pies and our peach cobbler, staple desserts. No, soul food isn’t out-of-date. It’s here to stay. But I’m not sure that most families are still honoring the food for love ideal.

                                   

Thin Lady, Don't Even Gaze at Me

Don't Stare at Me Thin Lady

Author's Note -- My journal began in 2011 and I lost 70 pounds:

                                 
                              Show Yourself, Thin Bitch

2012 Hanging in there

December 1: I stood in front of the wall mirror and screamed, “Show yourself. Show yourself. I know there’s a thin woman in there somewhere.” Nothing was working. I had prayed my last prayer. Maybe I had prayed the wrong prayer, or maybe I had too little prayer. Maybe I had too little faith. Lord knows how hard I’ve tried, but those who eye me as being that obese woman in the grocery store don’t know me. Look directly, look askance, but don't look with pity. I’m still trying. That’s all I can do. Maybe I should just blow up the refrigerator. Maybe I should tape my mouth shut. Maybe I should set off  chocolate with my Bic. Maybe I should shape shift into a gull soaring with a stuffed stomach. I could throw it up like I used to, but then I’d have another problem: bulimia.

                                          Never to Die Fat

December 2: The strangest thing happened while the hospital tech performed an ultrasound on my lower anatomy. Every touch left me feeling the sting of guilt from binging. As she pulled the nozzle around my lower and upper abdomen, I felt fatter than usual, and wondered if it would’ve been easier without all of my lump deposits. I tried to think of something pleasant as she poked and prodded. Every touch left me feeling the story of guilt glutton. What a disturbing few hours I spent there, but there was one caveat. No distraction but peace because of a quiet machine. One was a trainee, and the older woman would occasionally tell her what she was looking at. “I see fibroids here…” It felt strange because I was just a body to work on, and not necessary a human being. All I thought was: “I’m not going to die with elephant weight.”

                                       Horse Racing and Good Food

December 3: I’m in this race running like a horse at the tracks. Its owner’s heart beats swiftly like mine with hope to win the race against life’s clock. I haven’t been this serious about my obesity since the late sixties right after high school when I gained sixty pounds and lost it back in six months. I struggled then, too. It’s always a battle.

           Losing weight opens a world with one moment as beautiful as a horse racing through the meadows and another as ugly as an outhouse at a cottage behind a mansion. I, of course, prefer the meadow, but some days I feel like an outhouse, the days when I binge on pecans, walnuts, or Brazil nuts. Being overweight is like walking through hell in inflammable rubber pants, and there are no splendid moments when your fat is sloshing around like water in a half full gallon jug.

                                           Only Dream of Ice Cream

December 4: The snow falls heavily with the wind blowing over trash cans and shaking street signs. I watch in amazement but imagines sitting in café in Paris drinking Latte and writing poetry. I’m an arm chair traveler in traveling shoes strolling along the banks of the Seine, glancing across at the Eiffel Tower. I stop imaging things, and start the Internet to see what the rest of the world is doing. No, I don’t care. I turn it off before the slow sites comes up. I change my mind because I need to know whether some editor sent me a positive e-mail about publishing my poetry or my memoir, both of which of are in the wind looking for homes.

          Shucks, I’ve nothing but spam, and now I feel like eating chocolate ice cream. Thank God, there’s none in the house. Now I feel like taking a nap, but then I think why not take a walk in the snow and let the wind push me forward. That would do more for my creativity than sleeping. Then maybe my blubber would melt off like wax. I wished I was wax. Then it would melt off. That would be a miracle, and I am counting on a miracle this time. Miracles do happen. That’s what everybody says, but there are no weight-loss miracles; none have surfaced for me anyway.

                                    Losing Weight’s Giving Birth

December 5: Losing weight is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and the most unsuccessful thing I’ve ever done – at this point. I think it’s like digging ditches the perspective of my brother who did that in prison. I know it’s worse than child birth, something I succeeded in over thirty hours of sweating, squirming, straining. I didn’t think it would ever end but unlike dieting, which never ends, it brought a baby that filled my heart with honey and hope. Losing weight would do the same for it’s giving birth to thinness from my insight.

        Every day that I overeat must be recorded. Like the brownies my husband is now mixing for baking. It will take more than will power to keep me from eating them. I'm cognizant of having to dig deep into the bottom of the deep tunnel of my mind. He simply doesn’t consider that I’m addicted to chocolate. One time I went a year without eating chocolate, but I was single without any distractions. Newsroom people at work in Moline, Ill., where I worked as a copy editor, used to bring cake and chocolates to work on birthdays and holidays, but I persevered. I was so proud and ecstatic for pearls of profit. An addiction is a bitch, and my husband can attest to it, but he doesn’t understand my need for chocolate or my effort to kick the habit. Chocolate is not illegal but it’s still a killer. There’s no moderation for me, and I’m not dumb enough to try moderation yet again. Oh yeah, it's my mantra or a motto.

                                          A Reading Orgasm

December 6: I slip my feet into socks and sit in my tattered recliner for an evening of reading a novel. I have chosen RL’s Dream by Walter Mosley. I relax in my chair and let the author’s words, thoughts, and stories soothe me. I bless those trees, glue, ink, and book binders for making it possible to put a book together. But most of all, I bless my husband whose cooking allows me to have more reading time. He knows how much it means to me. While growing up, reading kept me from feeling poor. I read my way out of misery. It was an illusion successful in letting me escape page by page. Now reading keeps me from having that evening snack, and solves my problem of eating sugary stuff. A good book is an appetizer for me. The joy of reading is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I can read until my heart soars or until my heart’s afire. I’d like to call it a reading orgasm.

                                          The Quadruple Threat

December 7: My doctor delivered the quadruple whammy. First, I’ve gained ten pounds of the fifty that I lost. Second, I need to exercise more but knee and back pain create obstacles to that. Third, I must bear the pain rather than get stronger pain pills. She doesn’t want to turn me into an addict. Fourth, knee surgery is improbable because I’m the poorest candidate around. “No one will touch you because of the risk factors,” she said. I have sleep apnea, diabetes, and the weight thing. Putting me under is a huge risk. If I lose enough weight, it could be in the foreseeable future. I was so bummed out that I went to the bookstore, but I ordered African flavored hot tea instead of my usual frappuccino. But when I got home, emotional needs sent me racing to the refrigerator, and I overate for the one millionth time in a few months. I’m not going to take this thing lying down.

What is my greatest worry, she asked. Not being able to walk at all, I said. It’s even hard to get out of bed in the middle of the night, in the morning, and even to take a bathroom break after sitting for 30 minutes or less, which is why I don't see a movie, rarely eat out, rarely go for a walk, or for long rides. It's why I must ride scooters in grocery stores and never go shopping in department stories. These are more impediments to losing weight because we need activity to remove pounds.

            Oh, I forgot to talk about the positive stuff. My cholesterol, blood pressure, and three-month diabetes readings are perfect. Imagine that for an obese woman who's sedentary and nearly house bound. Some days that are good -- few and far apart -- I’ve got something to shout about. Now if this damn pain would go away and if these hefty days would reduce my ozone levels -- I'd trade ice cream and cookies for carrots and blueberries.

                                               Magic of Music

December 8: Tonight I have chosen an evening with music instead of watching TV, the place where food entices me. Music calms the binger in my soul because it fills my heart with soul and jazz. Music is better than eating chocolate. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Nancy Wilson, and Smokey Robinson, Phyllis Hyman, Alicia Keys, Mary J. Blige bring splendor from summer mornings to midnight. If I choose. There is a playfulness in Duke Ellington that makes me think I’m on the beach dancing or in the Savoy or the Cotton Club, which it was still around. John Coltrane, one of the most popular saxophonists, makes me think I’m eating a plate filled with greens, ham hocks, potato salad, candied yams, and cornbread. Listening to Nancy Wilson is as soothing as a bowl of butter pecan ice cream: my first love. And it’s like eating Brownies or chocolates when Smokey Robinson is singing. These diversions truly make my weight loss program more palatable and possible. I keep my mind, hands, and ears so busy that food becomes secondary. Enjoyment comes without food. How delightful! Will this work? I will find out via journaling.

                                        Football’s My Non-fat Friend

December 9: Sunday Night Football on NBC: Sunday night is football night in our house, and I was hungry enough to eat something fattening. I looked into the frig to find something healthy and discovered that I was out of emergency healthy food. That’ll never happen again if I can help it. Then my husband, Taft, came in and popped some popcorn, and I was saved from making a chocolate pudding or even eating a chocolate licorice. I rationalized that eating popcorn and drinking a 3 ounce glass of Splenda sweetened CranGrape juice would only add a few calories to my day, but it wouldn’t raise my blood sugar too high. That’s a serious concern since I left the doctor on Friday because she injected a cortisone shot into my knee, and that messed with my blood sugar readings for it runs unusually high for three or four days. Meaning: a blessing to a body of one who must eat lesser to keep it under dangerous level of 300 plus. A inch-reduction blessings, and I'm encouraged that this new strategy would exceed three or four days.

            The day didn’t go all that way because I had to decide how early to eat to allow my digestive tract to do its thing. You see, I have acid reflux disease, another problem associated with being overweight. Too much fat around the middle can push up acid into the esophagus and increase misery of acid reflux, which is an abnormal amount of acid released into the stomach. This acid rises and goes into the esophagus sometimes causing esophageal erosion. A special diet of reduced stress, the right amount of food, and eating slowly with smaller portions and early dinner are recipes for quiet sleeping. The burning and burping problems irritated me so much that I had trouble enjoying the game. After eating the popcorn I felt less hungry, and the juice added a little sugar. Boy, I hope getting hungry isn’t going to become a habit because binge eating generally comes out of the carpet. It’s important that I remain calm and collected to keep that under wraps; bingeing is one of my greatest enemies. It’s any obese person’s biggest foe.

                                             Eat, Poop, and Behave

December 10: Some things I’ve learned about losing weight, and I’m reminding myself of them here. I tended to eat while working, reading, or watching TV, and I wind up eating too much. I call it mindless eating, and it should never be done. Eating is not like meditation where mindlessness is a gift or a necessity. Eating deserves my undivided attention, thank you.

          No looking off in space and popping cookies into my mouth. No watching TV while holding a bag of chips with quiet chewing to avoid eye-popping fat-haters. A no-no. Today, I give eating my deserved focus. It’s a matter of weight or death. Of course, old habits die slower than a Die-hard battery. So from time to time, I have to stop in mid-bite to correct myself. I’m stopping myself less often today. Thank God, mindless eating has gone to the grave where it belongs. But I'm grateful to poop for emptying my colon without irritation or constipation. An old adage speaks to the point that regular bowels frees up weight on the "dogs" (feet).

Hold That Brownie: Wheels for Big Girls

THIS POST IS UNDER CONSTUCTION FOR COMPLETION. THANKS/JEC