One day just like the next.

Sometimes being heavy is exhausting. At work every time I get up out of my chair before leaving my cubicle I adjust my bra while seated, stand - pull up my pants, and pull my shirt down at the sides. As I am walking away from my cube I am sucking in the whole front of my body while tugging at the back of my shirt and then the front to make sure it isn't clinging too tightly to me.

I see women who walk around with shirts that are fairly snug against their rolls and they seem to have no problem with it. I don't know if it's because they have been living with it longer than I have, if they don't see themselves as a smaller person on the inside, or if they have a better self image than I do.

Every single day I think about exercising. As I sink further down into the couch in my exhaustion. Tired because I don't get enough sleep, tired because I've worked a full day, and tired because being heavy seems to require a lot of energy. And every night after I have a full belly I think about how tomorrow I am going to eat less, eat better, and how tomorrow it will be easier. I didn't do well today, but I have the resolve now, tomorrow will be better.

Every single night as I lay in my bed and try to go to sleep I think about how tomorrow I will clip on that pedometer and add a hundred steps a day. How I won't spend all evening when I get home on the computer and how much I will accomplish. Tomorrow.

The next day always turns into the same as the day before. There is no resolve when I am hungry and no ambition when I am tired.

Maybe I DO like to whine ...

So the fat girl is miserable. I suppose it doesn't help that I think I'm PMSing. I'm irritable and crabby and having big-wigs in the office does not help. Recently we were told there is a new dress code, no jeans being the worst part for me. That's all I have worn for years! So having to go shopping at this size was a horrendous experience for me. I hated every moment of it and hated putting my daughter through it when she was nice enough to come with me.

Well, I bought summer clothes. Capris and thin pants. And suddenly it's fall here. Cool. So I am wearing my black jeans because they are more cool weather pants. Not too much of a big deal, I can stay at my desk as much as possible. But they always bring food in when the bosses are in town. They brought in something and put it in our small cubicle-like break area where there are 4 or 5 of these people sitting around the table about 8 inches from the table that has the food on it.

Number one - my ass is too big to comfortably go in there and get myself a plate of food without bumping at least one of the chairs. Plus, I would have my back to the table where they are eating and I'll be damned if they are going to watch me fill my plate.

Two cubicles behind me is this little skinny thing who eats like a horse and makes nummy noises the whole time. You would think free food was the best thing ever - and she has no qualms about going back for seconds or getting nutty about something that tastes good.

Does anyone look twice at her when she oohs and ahhhs over the food and stuffs her face and then sits there and complains about how full she is? No.

Now if I did the same thing? Somehow it's just not the same thing.

If those bosses were not in there sitting right by the table, and I was wearing something other than jeans, I might, MIGHT go in there and get some food. But as it is - I don't think so.

I really hate to whine

But why can't I get myself to do anything? I mean really, anything??? I sit here all full and disgusted with myself after eating McDonalds and having done nothing except one load of laundry ALL day. It's so easy to look at healthy recipes and think that tomorrow, yes tomorrow I will start eating well and tomorrow I will put on the pedometer and start keeping track of how much I move.

But I never do.

When I lay down to go to sleep every night I inevitably pull my knee up and feel my belly against it. My belly is not supposed to be there. When laying on my side I lay my hand on the front of my waist except the IS no waist, and the front of me is so big I could easily pass for pregnant.

My daughter was so concerned when we went shopping for clothes that I hated myself. I don't think I hate myself but I DO hate the way I look and the way I feel and even more than those things - I hate my lack of ability to do anything about it all.

I joined an online diet site called SPARK. No idea if I will be committed to it any more than anything else. Makes me feel - more of a failure to fail in front of other people. I don't know, time will tell.

I knew this would happen. When I was old!

Today my knees started to hurt. Primarily the right one wihich is the one usually tucked beneath me as I sit on the couch in front of the computer for hours at a time. Literally. I'm guessing that has something to do with it. Inactivity is apparently a bad thing for the body.

Like I didn't know that.

It's bad enough that when I get up and walk after sitting for a while, everything is stiff, my ankles, my legs, and my feet and toes snap crackle pop like adding milk to Rice Krispies.

Now it's my knees. When I get up to walk they are just sore, nothing horrible, no sharp pain, just an ache that I feel as I walk. It's not just about getting old. It's about being overweight and my joints finally deciding to protest.

I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner.

A likeness. More or less.

Things I do differently because I'm fat. Part 1

I don't want to see my Mother. I know, that's bad, isn't it?

Before I got pregnant with my son I was probably about 120 lbs. By the time I gave birth to him I was over 200. My Mom came to stay with me - too early, he was late, so she went back to whichever state she was living in at the time. After Andy was born she came back and helped me with him. She was invaluable to me. She came when my daughter was born too, both times she stayed for 2 weeks and was a huge help to me.

But at some point, and I don't remember if it was after Andy was born, or after Dani was born or when she said it mind you, but in looking at how she felt when she saw me that last month pregnant with Andy my Mom said "Oh I was just sick."

She was referring to how heavy I was and was most likely saying it to me after I had lost a lot of weight. "Oh I was just sick."

I have never gotten that out of my head. Or maybe I should say my heart. When I questioned her about it later, told her how hurt I was by her saying that, she explained that she had only meant she was sick at heart because she knew how hard it would be for me to lose the weight. Uh huh.

My Mom is 80 years old. She has had 2 facelifts, a nose job, and a chin implant. She has been known, at about 110 lbs now, to eat less than she should because she has a "tummy". Forget that she's 80 years old, forget that she had 4 kids, she has a "tummy".

Do I believe she only felt bad about how hard it would be for me to lose that weight? No, I don't. And now, I am heavier than she has ever seen me, and I don't want her to see me. I know I would be self conscious the whole time because I would think she was looking at me, disgusted, and "just sick."

I don't want to deal with it.