Tuesday, July 08, 2014
Well.. I figured it was about time to write a blog. Unfortunately it's a not so good blog.
It seems as far as my weight loss journey, things have gone from bad to worse. I am very unhappy about it and I have to say that I have kind of been moping about it for the last week or so. Probably the last 2 weeks. I have been so upset with myself..
First it was just a couple pounds and I was like, oh that's no big deal, I'll lose it. Then a couple went to 5, then to 10, then to 15... Now I am almost back to where I started a little more than 2 years ago. And it has me sad. But I don't want to stay sad.
I thought that getting engaged and having a wedding coming up next year would get me motivated to wanting to look my best. And I do want to look my best but it doesn't have me as motivated as I would like.. Meaning there is almost no motivation at all. And I think a big reason of it is, I know that no matter how I look, Ron will love me for who I am..
But I need to get back on track.. I'm not sure how but I know that I need to.
So I definitely will need all of you to help keep me accountable! Especially those of you with my phone number, you know who you are!
Sunday, February 02, 2014
In one of my Sparkteams (BLC 24) we do a question of the day everyday. Todays QOTD was : Did any adult encourage you to lose weight as a child or teenager?
Well yes my grandma did encourage me. She was very helpful about it and nice and did what she could to help me lose weight. Although ultimately it was on me to do so since it was my body. My dad on the other hand wasn't.
After answering this QOTD I realized that maybe I needed to blog about this question and get it all out and hopefully move forward from it.
The way my dad treated me and acted towards me has held me back for so long that I believe I need to get it all out and hopefully that will help me move on from it and it will stop holding me back from doing the things that I want to do and be the person that I am meant to be.
When I was really young I use to be really skinny and knobby. I was a tiny kid. Then we moved from Wisconsin to Michigan. The whole point of moving was because my dad was in the Navy and he was being sent out to California to spend his last 2 years on a ship and my brother and I moved here to Michigan to live with my grandparents while he was gone. I'm not certain but I think that that is what caused me to start gaining weight. With my dad being our main support person and seeing him all the time to being forced to live with our grandparents and only seeing our dad a handful of times in 2 years most likely caused a lot of stress on me. Especially be only 8 at the time.
I had started gaining some weight. And of course once you start, it's hard to stop. Eventually it got to the point where my grandma tried to help me lose weight. I wasn't obese or anything. I was just a little chubby, weighing slightly more than I should. And it wasn't that I wasn't active or anything. I loved being outside and I loved running around and doing anything outside. I just happened to have loved food also.
My grandma was 100% encouraging where as my dad was the exact opposite. He had started making rude comments about my weight and saying mean things. He called me names like fatty, lard a$$, chubby, chunky, etc... It hurt a lot. In fact, it still does. While typing all this I am tearing up. It was always so hard to hear and deal with it. It just made me want to turn to food more. Food gave me something that my father wasn't.
When I was in 8th grade I was also in my second yer of Catechism at Church. I was going to be graduating from it in April and I was so excited. My brother had finished the year before and he had a nice Catechism party and I was looking forward to mine. Well a couple months before I was to finish it my dad told me the only way I was having a party was if I lose 20 lbs by the time I gave my Catechism speech.. 20 lbs is hard for anyone to lose in a couple months let alone a 12 year old. At first I tried but after not seeing any results I gave up. Then the name calling from my dad just got worse and worse. It made me feel like I was nothing and when it came to for me to give my speech, I gave it all while secretly hoping that my dad wouldn't be so cruel as to not throw me a party. But he held to his word and I received no party. I was devastated. I couldn't understand why my dad was being so mean and why he hated me so much. I cried a lot and became really depressed.
Then high school started. If I had any illusions that my dad would change, I was being delusional. Everything got worse. The name calling got worse. All the emotional abuse got worse and then there was physical abuse. I soon became a recluse. I tried to stay away from my dad as much as possible. I had even started staying the night at my grandparents a few nights a week. I remember my dad and grandma getting into arguments because of the things he would say to me. I don't think that she knew he was hitting me and sometimes even my brother. She was always our saving grace though. She was always there for us and for that I will always be thankful. I use to wish that she would take us away from my dad but now I wonder if she was slightly afraid of him.
While high school for all of my friends was awesome, I hated it. I started skipping classes, not doing my school work, I never went out with friends anymore and I had started cutting myself. I know a lot of people think that when people cut themselves it is just for attention. But I will say that for me anyways, it wasn't. Only a couple people ended up knowing. My dad never knew and to this day he still doesn't know that I did. For me, cutting myself was a way to show me I was still alive. I was going day after day feeling like I was nobody and nothing because that was how my dad treated me. Cutting myself and seeing my blood showed me that I was in fact still alive and still there.
High school was the worst for me. In junior high I was on the honor roll, in high school I had a hard enough time get a 1.00 GPA. I had started keeping a journal about how I felt. I would carry it with me EVERYWHERE. I even slept with it under my pillow. I never let anyone read it because I was scared of what might happen if someone did. I poured all of my feelings into it hoping that it would help me deal with everything. I recently went back and read that journal and actually cried and had to stop because it was so dark and sad.
The only time in high school that things got better was when I was a Senior. Instead of needed 6 credits to graduate on time, I needed 9. I was viewing my senior year as the gateway out. All I needed to do was complete that year and then I could be done. I could be done with school, my dad, all the abuse... I could move one. I worked my a$$ off that year and got my 9 credits plus 1. But, it wasn't completely a good year. My dad was still very abusive and mean. The worse happened November of 2008 (my senior year). I had had a conflict in my 6th hour math class. My teacher had wanted me to stay after class which I did. But when the bell rang for everyone to leave and go home, a student had said something rude to me and I ended up swearing at them and of course the teacher (who happened to know my family) hadn't heard what the other student said and only heard me swear and thought I was swearing at her. She told me to leave and I knew instantly she was going to call home. which she did... When I got home, it was Hell. I won't go into everything that was said. But the last thing my dad said to me before beating me with a 2x4 was I better call 911 because I'd need an ambulance by the time he was through with me... The whole time he was beating me ( I say beating because that is what it was) I of course was crying (it hurt) but all the while thinking that he was never going to do that to me again. By the time he was done I got up (very slowly) and walked away. It was very hard for the next couple of months... that's how long the bruises lasted. I wore a sweatshirt all the time. Except once. I had forgotten and had gotten hot and took my sweatshirt off. One of my friends noticed a huge bruise on my arm (the size of a 2x4) and asked about it. I had no idea what to say so I ended up walking away. Later that day I was called into the social workers office who I knew really well and really liked. She asked me about it and I told her there was no point because I wasn't going to say what happened... I was scared of what might happen to me if I did. I was scared of my father.
After that I was more determined to get through that year. Which I did. I was so happy when I did. I swore to myself and to God after that that I was never going to let my dad hit me again. And I never did. There was a time where he tried and I told him, "Don't even try. If you do or even attempt to I will have no problem calling the cops." And he didn't.
I know that this is kind of long but I felt that I needed to get it out. I needed to get out how my dads name calling got to me and how it turned to emotional and physical abuse and how it affected me and still does. It is hard to get over. I'm still not over it. I still talk to my dad. I still love him... not sure how. But for some reason I haven't been able to forgive him. I'm not sure if I can.
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