All Bodies Are Beautiful

For those of you who read my last post, you know that the last couple of weeks have been really hard for me.
One of the triggers for my Social Anxiety Disorder is size-ism, or more specifically, the belief that I'm not good looking enough to be in social situations, because I am fat. This belief had me develop an eating disorder by the time I was 14. An eating disorder I was too ashamed to seek professional help for. Studies have shown that our sense of self is mainly formed before we hit puberty, so I firmly believe that being repeatedly told that I was disgusting, lazy, stupid, nasty etc in elementary school still interferes with my sense of self today.

One of my tools to cope with my anxiety is anger. I don't get angry easily. It usually takes a lot of provocation for me to fly into a rage, but when my nerves are already frayed from anxiety, depression, and self-loathing, it doesn't take much to have me frothing in anger. Anger is not a very healthy tool for dealing with  mental illness, and I do not recommend it. I can use anger to shake myself out of the anxiety but I will always need other tools to take me back to a tranquil state of mind.

This morning I found something that shook me right out of my anxiety and into Hippo!RAGE territory. The response to this article is too perfect, so I will link to that instead of trying to form my own reply. All I want to say is this -

Linda Kelsey,
How DARE you! How dare you pretend to have the right to stand as judge when it comes to other people's happiness?
Get a hobby.
Sincerely,
Hedgehog


 

As always
DFTBA

TW: Admitting defeat

This post contains subjects that might be triggering for some people. Trigger warnings apply for Social Anxiety Disorder, depression, self harm, and eating disorder.


Sometimes I can't help but to feel extremely and desperately alone. Logically, I know that I have people around me who cares. People who would listen and who would help. The hard part is telling them that I need them, and so I end up not saying anything at all.

I have been told that loneliness is worst when you have no one to talk to, but to me, loneliness is worst when you have people to talk to, but you don't feel like being a burden. Because being a burden is worse than being lonely.

If I were to explain my S.A.D in an easy way, I would say it's like sleep paralysis. My mind is working at full throttle, but my body wants nothing to do with it. Exercising helps, but the anxiety is still there.
My mind is firing off thoughts like GLaDOS on a caffeine binge and my body is exhausted from the lack of rest.

Imagine staying up for two full days, then being conned into babysitting a toddler who has just learned "No" and "Why?". You can't escape said kid because you are duct taped to a heavy armchair. To prevent having to answer the questions the child is spouting you eat everything within reach. Add some guilt about fatness, courtesy social indoctrination, and the stage is set.

All the pent up guilt and the desire to accomodate everyone can lead to some serious damage. I took to self harm. In a sense, I still do. I have scars from finger nails, razorblades, scissors, and knives all over my body. I still bite my nails until my fingers bleed.

But the thing that gets to me the most is this - How can I ever hope to belong anywhere when meeting strangers makes me want to run?

DFTBA

Feeling good as a fat girl

I am fat, there's no way around it. At my last weigh in, which was in December, mind you, I weighed 275 lbs. Before I got sick, I weighed 222.5 lbs.

Thing is, I can be very lazy. I love to sit. I love to sleep. I love to find a quiet corner and read. This, and a life time of being called ugly, disgusting, nasty etc lead to some seriously bad choices, such as quitting competitive swimming and eating things I found, and still find, to be really gross. I did this, because I was sure I didn't deserve nice things.

Eight and a half years ago, I met a wonderful man, who taught me that the only person's opinion about me that really matters is my own. He taught me that I deserve the best I can get and more just for being alive. With his help, I have started to love myself for everything I am, and in the process I've come to love him even more.

It is true that in order for us to love others we have to first love ourselves, unconditionally and for everything we are.

Yesterday, I made the decision to start exercising again. Not my brightest moment, going out for a power walk in 29 C temperature and 64% humidity, but I was determined to not find another excuse to back out.

Heavens, am I glad I stuck with it. It was great. Moving in that heat made me feel powerful and alive. The endorphines made the world so much more vibrant while adrenaline made me feel like I was flying. I was exhausted when I got back home, to the point where my legs gave out when I got inside the front door, but I was ecstatic. Hell, even my time from two years ago hadn't changed much. I managed 2.7 km in 22 minutes then, 2.7 km in 25 minutes yesterday, and 2.7 km in 25 minutes today.

People glare at me when I am exercising. Disapproving looks that seem to say "How dare you, a fat woman, enjoy exercise? How dare you smile when sweating like that?" To them I say, try to enjoy life more. Life can be great if you stop worrying so much about what others think, and start loving yourself.

DFTBA

Humid Blue

I love blueberries. I love blueberry jam, blueberry soft drinks, and blueberry pancakes.

I am extremely fortunate that my parents' yard borders a wooded area covered in blueberry bushes. It's a really beautiful area, green and lush, with pine, fir, and birch trees. I really enjoyed being outdoors and rifling through undergrowth in search for yummy.

What I didn't enjoy was the 32 C temperature and 81% humidity this day had to offer, but I sure enjoyed it more than my dad and Boy did. They were replacing broken roof tiles. Black concrete roof tiles.

Now, to get wild blueberries, there are a few steps you need to take in order to get the yummy berries.

First, spend an hour looking for a bucket and a berry picker in your parents' garage and/or shed. This is very important. Without the heightened level of frustration, you cannot possibly hope to appreciate the humidity and heat once you get out of the cool garage.

Secondly, make sure the cat didn't sneak into the garage. If she did, count on spending another 30 minutes trying to get the stubborn animal out. Cats are smart animals, so don't count on her volunteering to leave the coolness of the garage for the OHSWEETPOPESONAPOGOSTICK heat of Outside. Luckily, I didn't have to wrestle a cat today.

Thirdly, ANTS! WHAT IS THE POINT OF ANTS!?

Fourth, sorting out all the debris from the berries. Thankfully, this can be done anywhere with air conditioning.

And finally, find a jar to store the berries in until you want to use them. All berries can be frozen until they're used, unless you want fresh looking berries. I have never succeeded in getting frozen berries to look like anything except a Rorschach test.

Yummy yummy berries.

I bought sugar on the way home, and I also found lemons and rhubarbs, so while I was waiting for the blueberries to boil, I made Ice Tea fixings.

This juice is stupidly simple and so great for iced tea. 

All you need is 

1 sliced lemon

1 cup sliced rhubarbs

1 tbsp sugar

1 liter water

Mix everything and let sit in the fridge for 2 days. Enjoy.

Anyone who's ever known me knows of my previous kitchen failures, such as the Charcoal Eggs Adventure or IDon'tThinkIt'sSupposedToLookLikeThis custard, so it should come as no surprice that I managed to almost burn my hand off before realizing that melting sugar plus exploding berries make for a potentially harmful situation. In the end, though, I managed to make two liters of glorious blueberry jam.

...that somehow look like brown beans. O.o

DFTBA