Change

Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it.  The time will pass anyway.

My audience is purely imagined, so I guess I can talk about this here...

I'm not the fat girl anymore.

I mean, I am, but for the first time in my life, I'm not letting myself be the fat girl.

This is something I don't talk about, so, if for some reason you are a real person reading this, and you are a real person who knows me in real life, please reach out to me via email/text or any other sort of written communication. I am struck dumb when someone wants me to vocalize things about weight, working out, body image, etc., but writing is far easier.

After at least 20 years of struggling with my weight, I am making headway for the first time. Do I expect this to be easy? No. But, not much is easy. Am I bitter about people who can eat like I did and maintain a much smaller waistline? Incredibly.
But I wouldn't change my story.
This was my lot in life for a reason. Right now it sucks, and I anticipate it sucking for a long time, but that's okay.

A month ago I started a challenge where I worked out and drank Shakeology and did all of these challenges every day, and in doing it (and only feeling like I half-assed the whole month) I lost 12 pounds.
These were not my first 12 pounds ever, I was not at my high weight beforehand, but it was crazy what a month of eating like a healthy person did to me.

A while ago I came to this revelation that I'm done with this "fat girl" phase of life. It was actually New Year's Eve 2010, and that was when I was at my high weight.
I fluctuate between 20 and 40 pounds less than I was at that high weight, and that was over three years ago, but that was when I realized that I'm not going back.
And today is the day I decide to talk about it.

The thought of someone I know reading this sends me into a panic, but I need to write about this... This is one of the most important journeys I will ever take, and I need to share it.
I'm an introvert by nature, but I know that I need to share this extremely private part of my life with others... I don't know why, I just do.

So... That is the preface to my story.

And here is my before and after picture from the challenge.

Bummer

I was just like, "make a blog, yo"
and then I was like, "okay",
then my computer was like, "16% battery, yo".

Womp, womp.

Also: Moar pictures!

Zoe the dog... She crazy, but adorable.

So you want to be a writer? Or at least a blogger...

Oh my.
It's been almost a year since I've updated my reader-less blog.

I keep being encouraged to write, because-- when I put my mind to it, I'm a pretty alright writer.
Okay, I'm a pain-free writer. Unless I'm talking about something awkward, people can usually digest my words pretty easily.
I'm like oatmeal... Pale, mushy, relatively odorless... Wait... Those are just physical ways I resemble oatmeal...
And oatmeal makes my tummy hurt.
My writing is like... I don't know. Imagine something you enjoy eating that doesn't usually affect your IBS. I'm like that.

I've decided to go the blog-route as opposed to the journal route for many reasons. If I'm writing for an audience (even if that audience is only perceived) my writing is better. My journals are sad diatribes about my weight, sprinkled with one-line sentences about what is going on in my life, aside from being overweight.
When I die, I don't think I want anyone to read my journals. They are too sad and boring for another person to endure. Although, lately I've been trying to be more encouraging to myself... But my encouragement is surely just as sad.

I also feel like writing more, because (imaginary blog readers: don't laugh) I kinda want to be a writer. Unfortunately, though, I don't think I could ever write a book (a fiction one anyway) because I don't like reading fiction. I like reading essays and memoirs. Preferably funny ones.
Am I secretly comparing myself to the likes of David Sedaris, Anne Lamott, and Mary Roach? Well, maybe.
Kind of like how you imagine what it will be like when Ellen has you on your show, or when you (finally) get that reality show.
I am definitely a better writer than Chelsea Handler, though, so... go me.

Could you imagine if you had a reality show? How awful would that show be? I mean, seriously. Mine would be incredibly boring. I'm just siting on the couch blogging in a dark living room. And the producers would have all of these ideas like, "go to a club!" or "climb a mountain!". But I'd be all like, "no". So it would be 20 minutes (13 if it airs on MTV) of me making cat noises, yelling angrily at inanimate objects, and playing Candy Crush. And the footage would inevitably reveal my habit of leaving empty Diet Coke bottles on the floor of my room, and my lack of motivation to ever put my pants in the hamper.
Sorry guys. I didn't mean for this blog to get to depressing so quickly.

And here's a picture, because I realize that people only like to read blogs with pictures.

Pictured: My cat and my face. My cat suffers from BRF (bitchy resting face) so she looks way less excited than she actually was. And I generally look more insane than I did in that picture. What can I say? It was a good day for me face-wise.