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I am ranty and upset and I really miss home.

I have always hated shopping.  Shopping is difficult for me.  Being a big girl, I’ve resigned myself to years of living in shapeless clothes.  Lots of black, no colors, no shape at all.  I have a shape, and it’s round, and should be something that is hidden under as much clothing as possible.  There was a brief time when I didn’t give a shit, and would wear sleeveless shirts with lots of cleavage.  But I have learned to be absolutely ashamed of my body, and should hide it as much as possible.

I wish that I had it in me to wear pink tights and skirts and sleeveless shirts, just because.  But I can’t.  So I find stuff that sorta fits, and have stopped caring what I wear, as long as the flab isn’t showing.  It doesn’t help that I now live in a country that’s even LESS accepting of people like me.  And even if I wanted to buy new clothes, I couldn’t find any that even “sorta” fit.  Not unless I want to spend a fortune.

So WalMart stuff is cheaply made and mostly crap, but I know I could walk into any WalMart in America and find trousers that fit me.  I could find sweaters and tshirts and workout gear that fit me.  Sure, it’s crap.  But at least it’s available.

What the high street here tells me is that “You are not allowed to feel good about yourself if you are overweight.”  I went into a store trying to find a bra my size.  The store has an entire floor full of bras, but poorly organised, and I found 30 minutes trying to hunt down the color combination for my size.  I found -3-.  3.  And they’re not the prettiest in the world.  There was a grand total of 1 sports bra in my size.  And it’s like origami to try to put it on my body.  So, you want me to work out and lose my fat? Ok, great, where do I start?

And shoes.  The whole shoe department had maybe 3 pairs of shoes that were wide fitting.  And we’re talking about 30 racks of shoes.  I don’t care how much weight I lose, I’m still going to have wide feet that are a half size that no one carries.  And I’m always going to have these calves that no normal size boots will fit.  Unless I have some sort of calf liposuction to reduce the mass of muscles there, they’re never going away.

There was one store here in town that was a “fat girl” store.  3 floors of awesomeness staffed with these amazing women that always looked stunning. It closed a few months after I got here and moved into a tiny corner of a department store where no one even looks twice at you or tries to help.  The clothes look so sad and pathetic, as if they were just kind of thrown in there, in the back of the store, to hide the fat women from the rest of their customers.

I’m pissed. I’m SO sick of being told that I need to hide.  I just wanted to find some sweaters and a few pairs of khakis for our trip to Scotland.  But no luck.  I ended up crying in the store’s cafe while my husband tried to calm me down.  I’m sick of being told how worthless I am for being my size, and that I can’t possibly be happy with my body until I’m this unreachable ideal.

I hate having to apologise for living.  I feel like I have to make an excuse for everything I put in my mouth.  I hate having to make an excuse for being alive.

I’m sick of having no voice.  I’m sick of being told that I am a worthless human being.

So I’ll go on my trip with shapeless clothes that are 2 years old and falling apart because I can’t find anything in this entire country that fits me and makes me feel beautiful.

You think I should lose weight for my health? For my Happiness?  And if I agree to do it, does that mean I have to hate myself and be depressed the entire time? What about the body I have RIGHT NOW?  It’s not ok to love it because it’s disgusting right?  I shouldn’t show my arms or my legs or any part of me, cover it and wear black until I am thin or I die from being such a fat fat fatterson. Because obviously all I do is sit on my couch and eat junk food all day, because that’s what we do, isn’t it?  People like that shouldn’t be allowed to live or have feelings right? No, I don’t have feelings, I’m too insulated to feel them, right?

I am sick of living my life waiting to be happy because I don’t think I deserve it.  And if I keep listening to what everyone tells me, I don’t.

I’m extremely bad at arguing.  That’s not entirely true, I think that I’m really good at it as long as I can keep my head.  But if I let the anger and rage overtake me, the gloves come off and I don’t fight fair.  However, I make it really easy for someone else to fight unfairly as I have been always open and honest about myself.  Those who know me best know where my soft underbelly is and where my weaknesses are.  If I push them far enough, they know the place where they can inflict the most damage.

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I call this the Trump Card.  If someone plays it when arguing with me, they will always win.  Because they can shut me up with the following words, “Well at least I’m not crazy like you”.  It’s like the fatality in Mortal Kombat.  I can hear the words in the background “FINISH HER”!  Those words finish any conversation and make me completely retreat and shut down.

My best friend pointed this out to me when I was telling him about an argument I’d had with my sister.  He told me that it always worked because I honestly believed it was true.  How can I possibly argue with something that I hold as my truth?

Real or imagined, I’ve always felt like the “crazy one” in my family.  When I was 14, we moved again to what felt like a completely different world.  I didn’t know things were so bad that we had to move, I just knew that I was ripped from a life where I had friends and was moderately popular into a school that was 4 times the size in a very strange place where no one seemed to care.  My sisters made friends so easily, and I cried every single day. 

My freshman year of high school consisted of school, swim team, and crying.  At one point, my dad staged an “intervention” with me in front of everyone else.  I remember sitting on the brick fireplace where they explained that they couldn’t deal with me anymore.  And that if I wasn’t careful they would “send me away”.  I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.  But I knew that I was branded the crazy one evermore, and I had to learn how to hide it better.

I could go down this road for hours, exploring the ways I should have made my life better instead of retreating into “crazy behaviours”, Not only did I have the crazy, I inherited my dad’s short fuse and bursts of anger.  Punching the walls was too obvious, so I stopped doing that and started carving things into my legs just so that I could stop the pain inside my heart.  My parents decided to tread lightly with me but soon became preoccupied by the birth of my baby sister, so there was no longer any talk of “sending me away”.

Maybe I am too honest.  I share more of myself here than I do with many people, and it’s not like I’m making any attempt to hide it.  Maybe I feel more comfortable pouring my heart out to strangers than I am trying to foster normal relationships.  It all goes back to the fear that if people knew who I really was they would go away. 

This is me.  I’m the crazy one.  How do I start changing that reality?

 

Unprofessional is crying in a bathroom stall in an office bathroom before it’s even 11 AM.  Unprofessional is someone who can’t take constructive criticism without folding into a stupid crying girl.  That’s me today.

I made a silly mistake, and it got escalated to one of my higher ups.  He emailed me directly advising of the mistake and how to fix it.  And he’s really a nice guy and wasn’t trying to be mean, and even said “hey, it’s a learning thing, and it’s been fixed now, so no worries”

But to me, it awoke in me this horrible fear.  Fear that I’m completely stupid and way over my head and out of my depth and have no idea what I’m doing.  I have been afraid of this for 9 months, that someone is going to find out that I’m a fraud and have no business being in this job.  I’m not confident in my abilities at all, because I have absolutely no background in this kind of thing and I’ve been making it up as I go along this whole time.  Mistakes like this, to me, are unforgivable.  No one died, it didn’t affect the company at all, but in my head, I feel like this is something they could fire me for.

Other times I feel like I’m really good at what I do, and that what I do is important.  But I changed job roles recently, or rather I got more duties handed to me without any training, and I’m still getting my legs under me when it comes to the job I was originally hired to do.  My work ethic seems to be detrimental to myself because I can’t give myself a damn break and forgive myself.

I don’t have time to really analyze where all of this is coming from, but I wanted to post this while I was still feeling it.  I’ve been censoring my posts for weeks, only writing at convenient times and not in the heat of the moment.  There’s something to be said for editing, but I started this blog to analyze the times that I felt irrational and to try to make some sense of them.

Somewhere in my brain, I know that I’m smart enough to handle this job.  I know that I’m not a fraud, and that people are allowed to make mistakes.  But if I know all that, why am I holding back tears as I try not to call myself a stupid pathetic loser?

“It’s not the end of the world”. I can’t even count the number of times my father has said that to me.  And it’s a phrase I’ve heard all my life from other people that I love.

I have a very long history of catastrophizing.  My old therapist used to get frustrated with me when I said something was “horrible.”  For example, bad traffic was “annoying” but not “horrible”.  Hurricane Katrina was “horrible” and “devastating”, but not me having a bad day.  I get that.  My logical brain gets that.  Of course, any reasonable person can understand that line of thinking.  And when I’m not wailing like I cut my foot off, I’ll be able to see that clearly.

I like routines. Routines help my life make sense.  I do things the same way everyday because otherwise I won’t remember where my keys are and whether or not I’ve taken my meds.  I always put my Oyster (transportation) card in my wallet when I get off the bus.  But today, I put it in my pocket with my phone.  When my phone rang on my walk home, I pulled it out of my pocket and my card must have fallen out onto the street.  I didn’t realize this until I got all the way home.  The realization that I lost my card with £20 worth of bus pass on it made me lose it.  I started crying as if I’d lost a limb or something.  In fact, I’m still crying.  I feel this complete sense of loss.  This horrible feeling.  And yes, to me, it feels like everything is falling apart.  I almost blacked out because I was crying so hard.

And again, I know that I shouldn’t be this upset over £20.  That a bus pass can be replaced.  That it’s “not the end of the world”.  But I feel like such an irresponsible idiot for not following a routine I know works for me.  For not doing what I always do.  When I deviate, bad things happen.  I’m trying to calm down before my husband gets home but I just feel so awful about it.  And I can’t stop crying enough to suck it up and walk down the street to get another one.  I just want it to magically appear again.  And what’s even dumber is that if I had registered the card last week, then I could just transfer it to a new card. But I didn’t.  So, again strike it up to being a complete dumbass.

Ok, so losing my Oyster card is really annoying.  But that doesn’t describe this overwhelming grief I feel.  There’s no other word to describe this absolute pain in my heart. I feel it all through my chest and my throat is tight and my head is spinning.  Everytime I think I’m ok, the tears start all over again.  I know that I shouldn’t feel like this because it’s not the end of the world.  I know that normal people are not like this.  I know that I don’t have many people I can tell about this who aren’t sick of hearing about it already.  As if they can’t understand why I shouldn’t be the happiest girl in the world.

I want to be the happiest girl in the world.  I don’t like being this way. I don’t like being gripped by sadness that I can’t even explain.  I hate having to try to explain that I suck up the sadness of other people like a sponge and sometimes own it as my own.  I’m terrified that I’m as crazy as I think I am.

I still can’t stop crying. I can’t get out of my own way.  I hate the voice inside my head who is making fun of me right now and taunting me and telling me “it’s not the end of the world.”  I just want it to shut up.