life is not a walk in the park, but I am fortunate in many ways

I complained at length in my last post, so I'll spare you any whining here, as I hate whiny people and don't particularly want to be one.

So, my sister who's 27 has moved back to the area. She was living in New York for college. She has graduated and I went to her graduation a couple of months ago. She needs a place to stay, and I offered my couch, though she may have another option she prefers instead. My place is super-clean right now. I straightened it up. Did I mention the mega cleaning session I did on my bedroom a couple of weeks ago? (I think I did but I'll mention it again.....) I had a ton of old clothes that I never looked at, much less wear, as they did not fit me at all anymore. Because of my weight gain, they were tucked away, but because of the size of my apartment, they were not really out of the way. They were in the way. So I got them out of the way. I took them to the Salvation Army and donated all five of the giant bags full of clothes. I love the Salvation Army, and this particular guy who works there, who is probably an ex-convict volunteering there to complete some community service. He is friendly. I bought a vanity there for my bedroom a couple of weeks ago. This guy tied the pieces down to my car. I carried them all up the steps to my apartment and put the thing back together myself. I was a little proud of this. I am not a very muscular or strong person, so I thought for sure I'd need some guy to help me, but I managed without one. I have no guy I could ask anyway, other than my neighbor or one of the many homeless men who live in my neighborhood.

So my bedroom is more tidy right now than it has been in the previous three years that I've lived in that apartment. The place looks great, except for the carpet. My vacuum cleaner broke. I had bought it because my mom broke the last one I owned. Then I broke this one. I have no clue how to fix it, but there is a guide on how to do anything somewhere on the interwebs waiting for people to find it. So maybe I'll fix the thing somehow.

I feel better when my environment is tidy and clean. It's not a common feeling, since I am a generally messy person, but I always like the feeling when I have the opportunity to enjoy it. I always resolve to be more neat and tidy in the future. I rarely live up to that resolution. I'm convinced there is a glitch in my brain that makes staying organized something very difficult for me. But it's not that it's impossible. I just always find something else I'd rather do than clean. Like nothing - ha. Sometimes I do nothing when I intend to be cleaning. I just watch TV and think about how difficult the mess would be to conquer. But more often than not these days, I get off my butt, and I clean the place. And then I'm glad I did so. Somebody I used to be friends with once told me that instead of the phrase "a mind is a terrible thing to waste", rather "a waste is a terrible thing to mind." I lived by that axiom much of my life. But others never seem to understand why you pile your clothing on the floor rather than "waste" your time folding it. As I get old (I feel very old) -er I find it more important to me that I conform to social norms like keeping a clean house.

I've lost 26 pounds to date. I eat 1200 calories a day, every day. I've been doing that for months. I walk 45 minutes or so almost every day. I work out at physical therapy once a week and am soon graduating from that, but might go to the physical therapy place to exercise on my own if I can afford the fee for that. I probably can't afford it, but I don't know what the fee is yet, so.....we shall see. I feel better about my appearance, a little bit. My clothes are getting baggy. I fit into some things I was not able to wear for a few months or so. But I still have to lose 50-60 pounds to be happy with my weight. So I'm part of the way there, but prepared for the long haul too.

What worries me is what will happen when I have to stop taking Phentermine. That is the appetite suppressant I'm taking. It's a prescription and the doctor who prescribes it told me you only take it for one-two years. Then you stop. The problem is I'll be taking antipsychotics, which are the reason I gained all this weight, for the rest of my life. This is not a "win-win situation". I'll have to figure something out. I know that when I lose all the weight, there will be no force that will make me put it all back on. I am determined to have a decent body again, one which does not disgust me every time I look in a mirror or cause people to comment on my fat-ness. As a feminist, I am tempted to bite my tongue and not admit that my body makes me sick when I look at it, but as a real person who has a real weight problem (and not just a history of anorexia like in the past), I am just being honest here. I never have seen any point in lying in this blog. The whole point of it is to tell my truth. So, yes, I hate being overweight. And I'm going to do everything in my power to end that problem for myself, even if it's extremely difficult.

The funny thing is, when I looked at those old clothes I gave away, I could not recall ever being so thin that they actually fit me. They weren't from ten years ago or anything. They were from three and four years ago. And I do recall wearing them. But when I looked at them, I thought, "My god, I've never been that skinny!". Because, since I still do have the old tapes of anorexia playing in my head, I thought I was fat, even when I was a size four. That's ridiculous! I'd love to be a size four now, and probably never will be again. But when I was a size four, I disliked my body even then! That's because of the mental problem of an eating disorder. I'm convinced a person never gets rid of that mental component completely, even after all the weight is normalized and the health is better, physically. I still had anorexia in my head three and four years ago, despite thinking it was long ago in the past. Also, my boyfriend Jim told me, later, after I had gained too much weight, "You were getting fat when I met you". I was a size four when I met him and also a year after I met him. So that goes to tell you something about him, not just about me. I don't miss him anymore.

There are two nice parks where I live. I walk in one of them each day that I go for a walk. I see all these misfortunate folks who live in the parks, and I think, "there but for the grace of the universe....." I don't particularly believe in God. But I believe in a higher presence of some kind. I also believe that I have worked my ass off to get to this point, where I am not the person who is living in the park. I am the person who pays rent, lives in an apartment, has a car, pays bills, works, and thinks semi-clearly because she takes medication that works for her some of the time. And I'm grateful for that. Despite the fat it put on me, I'm grateful for Risperdal injections, and, more importantly, I'm grateful for the presence of mind to go and get the injections. I'm grateful to myself for managing that too. I am lucky in many respects.