This is an interactive blog post. I invite comments from anyone who may read this post. There are no wrong answers; simply tell me your view.

I’m pretty sure I don’t understand normal people.

While that statement is applicable to so many topics specific to people, what I want to discuss today is hunger. I don’t think I understand how anyone else describes this word.

Let me explain. I believe I have two major and separate problems when it comes to controlling my nutritional intake. One is that I definitely consume food for emotional reasons, On more than one occasion in my life, I have eaten to the point of physical illness, so that I have to lie down, digest, and moan for a few hours. Usually, between moans, I am still eating. Obviously, at this point I am not eating because I am hungry; there are other issues going on here.

However, this scenario does not take place all that often; more often, I eat because I am hungry. I swear to you, I’m not trying to make excuses: I believe my appe-stat is broken. When I have (an increasingly rare) good day, and I consume less than 1,500 calories (sometimes significantly less), there is good reason for me to feel hungry. I think most people would — but this is where I need some help. Do you ever feel hungry? Under what circumstances?

The thing is, when I experience a very bad day, which can exceed 5,000 calories or more (really; not kidding, here), I am still hungry, and this hunger feels no different to me than it does on a 500-calorie-day. I seem to have two settings: hunger, and bulimia. I am either hungry or I am sick from all that I have eaten. I am never “just satisfied”.

For years, I have assumed that this state of being is tied to my aforementioned emotional eating issues. I have tried to examine the possibilities: for example, I am never satisfied with anything in my life. I want to perform better at work, in my volunteer positions, as a housekeeper…I need for there to always be another step toward satisfaction/perfection ahead of me. And there could well be some truth to this theory — but recently, it has occurred to me that I don’t really know how other people describe hunger.

Are you hungry every day? How many times per day?

I’m not entirely sure how it will help me to know this information. If you confirm my suspicions regarding my potentially broken appe-stat, it will still be broken. Maybe it will help me to know that not all of my eating decisions are emotional. Maybe this is just a convoluted attempt at blaming emotional problems on physical issues; if so, I should probably know that, as well.

Tell me how you feel.

Okay, so the promises idea worked pretty well; until it didn’t. So now I have something new to feel bad about — apparently, I can be as unreliable as anyone else.

New topic.

This week, I had a panic attack. Small one, but I have not had one for many years. Let’s discuss my history of panic attacks.

My mother had a degenerative neurological condition that was the ugliest thing I have ever seen. A smart, funny, independent woman was reduced to quivering gelatin for about five years. She actually had the disease for 20 years or longer — it took that damn long for the thing to kill her. (For the interested, you have probably never heard of this particular orphan disease: oliviopontocerebellar degeneration, subtype multiple system atrophy. Woah.) Anyway, my panic attacks started during the last five or six years of my mother’s life. My father kept her at home for quite some time, but she spent the last three years in long term care (i.e. “nursing home”).

The panic attacks were fairly frequent during this time, and manifested themselves in the following way: I would become physically very warm, my heart would begin to pound, I would have difficulty breathing, and I always felt trapped. I had to seek out the most wide-open spaces I could find (thank God, this never happened on an airplane), and I usually starting ripping off items of clothing to try and cool myself down. (Once, I ran half-naked through a campground at 3 in the morning.) That never did the trick, and I would have to stop myself from ripping off all of my skin.

After the campground incident, during which I frightened a few small children, I finally figured out what the problem was.

On to Part II of The History of Me:

I have always been too independent for my own good. I have a deep-seated need to control, and this trait only grows stronger as I grow older. I quite realize that this personality characteristic is very much a contributing factor to my inability to engage in any long-term relationship. (Oh, I have friends; most of us see each other so seldom that they have no problem always letting me have my own way — but I’ve never had a life partner — someone you have to share everyday control with.)

Now: The Merge

Eventually I saw that there was more at work than just sadness and pain over my mother’s health — what was really bothering me was that I could not control any aspect of it. I influenced her care. I helped my father keep her at home. When she went into long-term care, I became one of those impossibly proactive family members who has her nose in everything: I posted notes all over her room regarding how to best care for my mother; I left candy in the room at all times, so that the aides would make regular visits; I did her laundry myself; I came in the evenings to feed her dinner. But in the end — it was the end, and I could not control that, no matter how hard I tried.

Without fail, I experienced panic attacks during the night — when I finally stopped moving and was surrounded by the harsh pulse of reality. As soon as I confronted my control issues and admitted that I was not in charge. the panic attacks stopped.

Segueway

The obvious question here is— why did I have a panic attack this week, more than 10 years after my mother’s death?

It’s true that nutrition-wise, I’m outta control. Some days are nearly perfect, and then I feel like I become possessed, and someone else starts making the decisions and ordering the pizza.

In the light of day, I know this is not true. Especially with no family to worry about, I alone decide what comes into my house and eventually into my mouth. Yet the fact remains that I feel as out of control as I did all those years ago.

What remains to be seen is whether the mere recognition of this feeling makes a difference — with both panic attacks, and bad nutritional decisions. Can I stop the possession in its tracks by repeating “you control this decision” over and over?

I did not have any real control in my mother’s situation; I cannot say the same regarding each decision I make about what goes into my mouth. Maybe the feeling of being out of control is enough to put me into a panic. So you tell me — how do I stop that feeling?

The obvious answer is to take control — and every morning, I do. Sometimes, I can maintain that control almost all day long.  I’m at a loss, here.

😦

Wow — I haven’t  blogged in nearly a year! Let’s catch up, shall we?

My last several entries were written in the midst of a struggle. First, weight loss stopped — then the inevitable weight gain began. What happened, you wonder?

Well, I am pleased to report that I did not gain back all the weight I lost. I am less pleased to report that I gained back about half of it. My total weight loss was around 140 pounds, and I gained back about 70 pounds in around eight months.

I tried all sorts of things to fight my way out of this paper bag. In the beginning, I continued to blog. I sought professional help (as in counseling). I never stopped working with Steve the Trainer.

Eventually, the upward motion stagnated, and I stopped gaining. I sat at 270-ish pounds for two or three months.

Then I tried one more thing, and in the last month, I have lost almost 20 pounds. I’m hoping my latest tool continues to work for awhile.

“WHAT IS IT?” (I can hear you screaming.)

Background: I am an unusual individual, in many ways. I’m not your average bear. One of my differences from mainstream society is the seriousness with which I regard promises. I never believed in “white lies”, and lying to me is the worst thing you can do. I will never lie to you. If I make a promise to you, I will be careful when I do it — because I will mean it. If I am in the hospital at the exact moment I promised to drive you to the store, I will arrange (mid-surgery if necessary) for a prepaid taxi to pick you up.

I am also alone: no partner, no children, no parents, no siblings within reach. Therefore, I am not accountable to anyone, most of the time. I understand that we should all be accountable first to ourselves, and that the fact that I can’t seem to take commitments to myself as seriously as I take commitments to others, means I still need more therapy. However, I also understand that we work with what we have.

Back to Present: Having recognized all the above, I decided to make some promises to Steve the Trainer. I tried not to overwhelm myself by making too many. The promises I started with will no doubt morph into something else, as we progress. I also made an effort to phrase the promises in a positive way. Every two weeks (on weigh-in day), I present Steve with a new contract of promises, effective for the next two weeks.

Here’s what I’m working with right now:

• One (1) restaurant visit shall be allowed during the dates noted above. For the purposes of this contract, a “restaurant” shall be considered any location that provides a complete food product: this includes fast food,
  sit-down eateries, and grocery store delis.
• There shall be complete avoidance of any delivered food product (pizza, restaurant meals, et cetera).
• There shall be complete avoidance of any carbonated beverage.
• There shall be total adherence to the keeping of a daily food journal; said journal will be submitted into evidence upon every visit to Aspire Personal Training.
• Candy, bakery products, ice cream, and other sources of concentrated refined sugar are prohibited by law.
• Quitting is not an option. Ever.
• The above promises will be approached in a spirit-of-the-law manner; defendant will refrain from the investigation or pursuit of loopholes.

I even had a short-hand version of the promises printed onto an inexpensive business card. This is a small, handy reminder that I can carry with me anywhere. There is one in my coat pocket, several in my purse. Sometimes, when I am tempted to break my first promise ever, I just reach into my pocket and feel the card — it helps. The card is also something tangible I can show to well-meaning friends who try to “come-on,-just-this-once” me into eating something I shouldn’t. It’s not just me: when I say to someone, “I’m sorry, but I’ve made a promise”, and show them the card, most recipients respond a lot more seriously than when I just said things such as, “I’m trying to make good nutritional decisions, and this isn’t part of the plan.” Usually, the card opens up some interesting dialogue between us. One friend has even made her own set of promises (to me), “contract” and all.

It’s only been about a month, but already there have been many times that I have successfully stopped myself from straying into dangerous territory by remembering that I made a promise — and the knowledge that if I break that promise, I will have to look Steve in the eye and tell him that a few minutes with a pizza meant more to me than a three-year relationship with him.

I will strive to keep you updated in a more timely manner on my progress.

I promise.

May years ago — approximately three diets ago — I had a few moments of dietary success. I was asked to speak at a group meeting, and share my hard-earned dietary wisdom.

Yeah. I know.

Anyway, I remember telling those gathered that the most difficult step we take when we start a weight-loss program is the first one. I think now that I would revise my answer: the most difficult step we take — is the next one. The point is to keep taking those steps. One at a time. Let one foot follow the other, and build your steps into a future.

Last night I took a couple of steps. For the first time since I joined the board of directors of a community organization that meets every two weeks, I did not stop after the evening meeting and get something (or many somethings) to eat. In a related step, I successfully twisted a craving. About halfway through the meeting, as I was publicly ignoring the cookies everyone else was eating, I began to fantasize about Subway sandwiches and grocery stores full of food. I hadn’t quite fixated on a plan of action. I was considering going into the store for a few little snacks, maybe some ice cream, and then driving across the parking lot to Subway, where I might have one sandwich. Or, I might have a couple of sandwiches.

As I began to entertain the possibilities, it suddenly occurred to me that this was my chance to try out my theory. “You have cottage cheese at home,” I told myself. “Some nice carrots, straight from a local farm. You can have as many as you want.” I forced myself to think about the healthy choices already in my home.

Frankly, I didn’t know until I hit the driveway whether or not I could do it. I passed a pizza parlor, and remembered fondly the cheeseburger pizza I used to get before I went vegetarian. Next door was a small Italian restaurant, and I thought about the pasta salad. Then came Subway and the grocery store — and also Taco Bell across the street. I wanted everything. I was hungry.

I just kept thinking, “You have to start saying ‘No’ sometime. And this isn’t even ‘no’; it’s ‘instead’. You got up at 6, did your exercises before work, followed the plan all day long — and you can make a good decision now, feel great about it in the morning, and have another good day. Two in a row. Or, you can make another decision, which will be followed by more bad decisions, guilt, depression, all manner of negative consequences.”

I had some cottage cheese, and a yogurt that I’d forgotten I had. This morning at 6, it was very difficult to get out of bed — in the end, I wanted to stretch my good decisions as far as I could. I made some good decisions yesterday. I can keep the streak going, or I can sleep, and feel bad about it the rest of the day — feeling bad about it will lead directly to other things that result in my feeling bad.

I’m tired of feeling bad.

I got up.

And I danced.

Well; I’ve allowed myself to gain some weight. I hovered around 200 pounds for a few months; then I hovered around 215 pounds for a few months. Then I spent some time around 230 pounds. When my scale (yes, I bought another one) got dangerously close to 240, figured I had a couple of choices.

One is to scream “screw it”. That is what I did the first time I lost 100 pounds, and sure enough, eventually I gained all 100 back. This is not an option I am comfortable with, for a few reasons. I’m tired of ultimately surrendering in the endless battle with weight loss. I’m in charge, here, dammit. Also, I weighed 200 pounds long enough to like it. I want to weigh 200 pounds (or even less) again.

So now I have a chunk of poundage to lose again: 40 pounds. “40” is a significant number. I regret putting myself in this position. On the other hand, “40” is not a powerfully frightening number to someone who has recently lost 140 pounds — and lost 100 pounds once before that. The point is, I know I can lose significant quantities of weight. I have done that. I understand how to do that.

First, I am going to reset. I am going to reset physically by enduring a week of almost entirely liquid; back to Sun Warrior Vegan Protein and almond milk, for a few days. I am going to reset emotionally by taking a trip to the coast. The ocean has been my “go-to” place in times of upheaval for most of my life. The vastness of it, the power of it, the sound of it, the repetitiveness of the waves — it all calms me. I feel smaller standing next to the ocean. My problems are smaller when I am contemplating the ocean.

I freakin’ love the ocean.

I am rededicating myself to the exercise component of weight loss, as well. I can get up as late as 6:00 in the morning, and still have time to work out at home before I go to work. I can dance. I can complete one of the routines Steve the Trainer has designed for me. I can grab a Richard Simmons tape. On the days I have even more time, I can drive to one of two gyms, where I can use exercycles or treadmills. As the fall weather arrives, I can restart my neighborhood walks on the weekends. As well as I know my own name, I know that I have to exercise in order to lose weight, and I need a significant amount of cardio exercise to help control my blood pressure. These are truths that experience has taught me. I can waste my time wishing they weren’t true, hoping for an elusive weight loss magic that just happens because I deserve it — or I can accept and embrace what I know to be true, and make exercise part of my life; forever, not just “while I’m losing weight”.

When I get back to my real life after my liquid days on the ocean, I plan to eat according to several “perfect” nutritional daily plans that I spent hours devising. Because they are vegetarian, I needed to find good sources of protein, that combined in the correct way to make complete proteins. I also needed some good sources of iron — I donate blood regularly to the American Red Cross, and I am usually right on the edge of iron content. (Interesting aside: last Saturday, my left arm conspired to get me kicked out of the donation process, as the finger-stick-blood test put me below the iron limit. During my allowed second try, using my right hand, the finger-stick-blood test was well above the limit. I thought it was a good analogy; I often feel that my body is not working as one entire unit, but as individual parts at war with each other.) To properly absorp iron, I also needed some Vitamin C, and I needed to find some vegetarian Omega-3 sources (apparently, that’s not entirely possible, so I also needed to find a good Omega-3 vegetarian supplement). It took me hours to come up with four “perfect” days. I hope to write more plans later, but I will start by interchanging those plans.

Keeping a food diary is important — and irritating. Writing the same thing over and over again gets very old, very quickly. So, I made copies of those plans: I can just check off a food as I eat it.

I know a couple of other things. One is that I am subject to mind-numbing, diet-blowing cravings. I fixate on something, such as cookies, and I cannot rest until I consume that product. No matter how long I am strong, capitulation will eventually happen — I have literally gotten out of bed in the middle of the night and gone to the store to buy something I have been craving and ignoring for the better part of a week. Until now, I have just tried to ignore this aspect of my personality. My plan now is to accept that I will crave, confront my craving, and then to twist the craving into a healthier direction. For example, I know that my “perfect” daily plans contain only good food. When I begin to crave, I will allow myself to start obsessing about any one thing on any of the four different plans. I will focus my craving on that extra banana, or extra sweet potato, or extra serving of edamame, by reminding myself that I truly like those products. I included only things on my plans that I really enjoy, and can live with for a while. If I can spend the day remembering how much I love edamame mixed into cottage cheese, I’m hoping that when I give in and satisfy my craving, the damage will be less substantial than it could be.

Another thing I know is that writing can save my life. Whether I am blogging, working on a piece of fiction that helps me process personal experiences, or writing something that has no basis in my own twisted reality, when I write, the world is a better place. (Even your world, because I write well.) So I’m going to jump-start my writing. I’m going to blog more, and I’m going to start a piece of fiction I have been thinking about for a couple of years (ready, Ally?).

I can lose 40 pounds.

I can do anything.

Dear Steve the Trainer,

I’m full of excuses. This hurts. That’s tired. Someone force-fed me donuts (at gunpoint).

I prefer to regard most of these excuses as legitimate reasons. Sure, there are seldom guns involved when I choose to eat donuts, but I can honestly say that this hurts and that’s tired. But you know, these are not new situations: 100 pounds ago, I was so tired that I would go to bed at 6 o’ clock in the evening. 100 pounds ago, this probably hurt worse than it does now. I could lose another 100 pounds, and my life would not be perfect.

There would still be difficult weeks at work. I would still have arthritis. I would still get tired. If have been toiling under the delusion that any of those things would go away, I have been sadly mistaken. I can’t make a legitimate case for falling off the wagon — and then rolling under the wheels.

I have explored various emotional issues — on my own, and with the input of professionals. I don’t know what to say, anymore. I reach the point of rededication on almost a daily basis — and my resolve lasts until I get hungry.

Perhaps I should admit complete relapse; start with baby steps, all over again. “Today, say ‘No’ to one food craving.” But maybe I’d use that as an excuse to say ‘Yes” to a dozen others.

I know that I’ve paid for your time, and I can choose to waste it. Still, I have clients whose photos are in the dictionary, illustrating the word “annoying” — they may pay someone for the right to be my client, but they still make me crazy. I certainly don’t want you to start dreading our training sessions because you feel as if I’m not even trying anymore. If you start to feel like you could do more good with someone else, try to remember that no one needs a life preserver more than the person who is drowning.

Debi

I have been food journaling for over two years (give or take an occasional break) — for as long as I have been seeing Steve the Trainer. I’m not quite sure why, but he saves my journals: I think the poor man must have had to dedicate an entire file cabinet to me by now. Last week, as I sobbed quietly during a weigh-in, he asked me again to step up my journaling — with a twist. Now, he wanted me to write down not only what I ate, but how I was feeling during the day.

It’s been an interesting experiment, and in less than a week has already yielded a couple of good lessons. The day I began this assignment (Sat., June 4) my feelings are recorded as “tired, despondent, lazy, sad, and wishful.” Having weighed 226 pounds that morning, I end the day by writing that “I feel as bad as I felt at 350 lbs…”.

I also ate a lot that day. Ice cream (three times), cookies, potato chips, pasta…comfort food. Beginning on Sunday, I was a little more in control — but I have yet to follow my plan on any given day, this week. My predeliction is to feel pretty bad about that; but consider these specific examples:

• On Monday, I had an evening meeting. This board meets directly after work, and there is no time for dinner — for anybody. At this bi-weekly meeting, snacks are always served (and generally placed directly in front of my face for three hours). This is a board I just recently joined, and every single meeting I have attended has ended with me stopping at either the grocery store, or a fast food restaurant, on the way home. Often cake is involved. I anticipated this (in writing) on Monday, and I stopped at the store before the meeting, where I purchased an energy bar to take with me. It was my hope that having something of my own to eat while everyone else was eating would keep the cake at bay. This plan did not work out perfectly. This particular board is the most “official” of any I have ever served on, and although I did not solicit the position, I somehow became the “assistant to the secretary”; since the actual secretary is rarely at the meetings, this means that I am responsible for keeping the minutes. Everyone else on the board has served for awhile, and they often start a conversation in the middle, leaving me to try and figure out who is talking about what and how important it is. After the meeting was over I journaled that I was “in over my head”, feeling stressed and craving everything edible. Despite my energy bar, I still stopped at Subway on the way home. *I did not add any cheese to my veggie sandwich, and I did not have the potato chips and cookies I truly wanted.
• Things started to get busy at work on Tuesday. At 10:00 a.m. I wrote that I had not had time to eat anything, yet. At 3:00, I wrote only “hungry”. On the way back to work from my training session, I stopped at Wendy’s for a small order of fries. *What I really wanted was everything else on the menu — I don’t even like french fries, so I knew there was a chance I would not even eat them all.
• Work got busier. By Wednesday I was plagued by an especially annoying and difficult client, who wanted a job early (and therefore brought the job to me late). By 1:16 p.m. I was fantasizing about pizza and cupcakes. I tried various options during the day, understanding that my stress level was driving me to this fantasy. I forced myself to take a break for lunch, even though part of me wanted to keep working. I went to a park and played games on my iPhone. After work, I did housework and yardwork that kept me busy until 7:30 p.m. — when I ordered pizza. *I ordered a small pizza, armed with nutritional data I requested from the chain a few weeks ago, so I knew exactly how many calories I was about to consume; I did not order the sides or desserts that would make my life complete.
• On Thursday, I was so flustered I wrote the wrong day in my journal. “See?” I said. “I don’t even know what day it is, anymore.” When I began to fantasize about food, I tried to guide the fantasy. I have been wanting to try making sweet potato fries, so I wrote about planning to stop at the store after work, to buy one sweet potato. Unfortunately, I had to pass the deli counter to reach the produce section, and eight tiny laughing cows followed me home. *I read the nutrition labels of several different cheeses, and picked out the one with the least amount of calories.
• Today (Friday), I spent several hours trying to plan the perfect nutritional day. As a vegetarian, I need to pay close attention to my protein consumption, as well as iron (plus vitamin C, which will help me absorb the iron I do eat). Vegetarian sources of Omega 3s are a significant challenge. After almost three hours, I was unhappy with the amount of calories, carbohydrate grams, and sodium milligrams. I was also starving, having just spent three hours googling various foods — and because the entire exercise began to smell pointless. I went to lunch, went to a store, and bought some more vegetarian cows, and an energy bar. *I was really craving a sit-down lunch at a nearby restaurant — or at least a candy bar and some crackers to go along with my cheese.

Sitting in the car in the parking lot of the grocery store, I read through my entire week’s journal. This is what I noticed:

1. Every day, I had a plan.
2. Every day was imperfect.
3. Every day, I correctly identified triggers that were shooting holes in my plan.
4. Every day, I faced my cravings and food fantasies head-on, identified them, and acknowledged their power.
5. Every day, I took some of that power back. Even when I knew I was heading down the wrong road, I was asking myself the right questions: “What is a wiser choice right now?” and “In what way can I at least try?”

In a perfect world — hell, even in a somewhat-better world — there would be days when I did not have to deal with the reality of food addiction. But in the world in which I live, I need to give credit where credit is due. My natural tendency is to let anything less than perfection send me into a downward, unending, totally out-of-control spiral: “Well, I had some Laughing Cow cheese and screwed this day up — I might as well have some cake and ice cream with a pizza chaser.” Having to write everything down makes me less likely to blindly make those decisions — and helps me see that even when I am not perfect, I can make one choice that might be better than another. It’s important to acknowledge this behaviorial trait, and important to note that even on my worst days, I keep trying.

About 30 years ago, I had a dream.

Back then, I had a dog. Munchkin. Cool little dude.

My dream, though — and I mean a real sleeping-at-night “dream”, not  a “daydream”-type dream — my dream starred cats. Felines. Whiskers, cute little furry faces, you know…cats. These cats walked on their hind legs, like humans, and were about five feet tall. They also spoke English.

Apparently they were from the Planet Cat, and they had arrived in their Catships with the intent of taking over the world. Several Cat Soldiers appeared in my bedroom, in the dead of night, and whisked me away to a local National Guard Armory. The main floor of the Armory was huge, and packed with both human people (in their pajamas) and Cat People (in their whiskers). Arranged all over the space were individual “art stations”.

I have worked in graphic arts for longer than I care to admit, and I was working in it then. This was back in the day before desktop publishing. Advertisements were created with type cut from strips of film with an X-acto knife. Hot wax was used. Paste-up was actually “pasted up”, on slanted art boards. When I saw the art stations, I was thrilled. “I can do this!” I thought. “This is what I do! Hooray!”

The Head Cat made an annoucement. Cat Soldiers would distribute ad copy and materials; we humans were to create a complete ad from these materials. The Head Cat would judge our ads, and kill those who did not perform up to snuff. This made me a tad nervous — but still, I felt okay as I accepted my packet from a Cat Soldier. After all, paste-up was my life!

Then I looked at the materials — and froze in complete panic. The X-acto knife had no blade. The hot wax was cold. The ad copy was incomplete, and what was there was incorrectly typed. There was no artwork. There was no way to create a decent ad with the things I was given.

I remained in a state of frozen panic while I watched the Head Cat begin his tour. He took a group of soldiers with him. They walked around art boards, looking from every angle. Then the Head Cat would step up to the human, shoot him in the head, and drop his sorry ass on the floor.

I was doomed, and I knew it.

I decided that if I was going to die, I would at least die with an ad on my board. I took my materials and did the best I could — which, given the state of things, was not very good. Soon, Head Cat and his soldiers approached my board. I faced the Head Cat and spoke. “I apologize,” I said. “I could do much better work than this, if only everything were perfect. This ad is personally embarrassing, but it’s the best I can do.”

Head Cat slowly strolled around the board. He touched the ad with one paw. He blinked at one of his soldiers. I waited to die. Finally, Head Cat approached me. He waved one paw to indicate the room around us. “These people,” he said, “they did not even try. Every time I found a blank board, I killed a human.” He took a step closer and looked right into my eyes. “The real test was not how beautiful an ad you could make — we intentionally gave you inadequate supplies. The real test was whether or not you’d even try.” Then he stepped away, and looked at his soldiers. “She may live,” he declared, and the group moved on to another board.

Dozens of times in the years since that dream, I have remembered it. Things become difficult. Sometimes, it is tempting to stop trying.

And sometimes, the test is whether or not you do.

Many people go on a cruise with a certain mindset: it is a unique opportunity to be someone other than yourself, the wild and crazy person you dream of being. Your fellow passengers will never see you again, right?

My cruising experiences have all accurately reflected reality, however. Basically, during my first three cruises, I never got off the ship. I never participated in the excursions. I bought internet time and surfed the net from the middle of the ocean. I read a book every day. All of this mirrored my “real” life; I never participated in that, either. Life was something I endured.

Enter cruise #4. I got off the ship. I danced; sometimes with other people, even. I sunbathed — in a bathing suit, in public. I laughed. I also still read (albeit less than usual), and thought (occupational hazard). At first I thought that I was playing the same game as everyone else — pretending for a week that I was someone else. But as I considered, I found a deeper truth. The fact is, I have always danced. When I was in high school, I broke my foot dancing — alone, in my bedroom, behind closed doors.  I have always spent time lying in the sun — in the safety of my own backyard, and even then I was fully clothed (still managed to fry up a nice case of skin cancer, but that’s another blog), I have always laughed — most heartily when alone, with only a cat to bear witness. I was a closet dancer, a closet sunbather, a closet laugher — a woman in public hibernation. During this cruise, the things I did reflected who I really am; and the fact that I am ready to be that person in front of other people. An added bonus: other people did not seem to find this off-putting. Contrarily, they were dancing, sunbathing, and laughing with me.

Go figure.

Of course, there must be a negative in here somewhere, right? Well, the more comfortable I become in my own skin, the harder it is to find the motivation to change. Now we move into the second half of this blog entry.

Subtitle:  What Did You Just Say To Me?

Yesterday I saw Steve the Trainer for the first time in two weeks. We had a nice little talk, regarding our mutual vacations and other personal items. I’ve seen this man three times a week for over two years; by now, I think he qualifies as a friend. There is a line of demarkation in the sand, however; he is also my trainer. Eventually we began to discuss my weight loss (or, more accurately, my lack of continued weight loss — I have been bouncing around the same 20 pounds for six months.) I’m still chewing on that discussion, but I think he accused me of not working.

This accusation engaged several different personalities. Rational Debi can readily see this point of view, and perhaps even agree with it. Defensive Debi wants to grab him by the neck of his t-shirt and slam him against the wall: what does a 26-year-old infant who is still surrounded by considerable family support know about the kind of work every second of my life has been? Sure, maybe tying my shoes is no longer the almost-overwhelming job that it once was, but I am still alone out here. Cats don’t do laundry. Every single thing that occurs in my life happens because I expend the energy required to make it happen. Trust me, I work. Wounded Debi wants to latch onto this statement and use it as an excuse to do (and stop doing) whatever I want: after all, why bother trying at all, if the person closest to my struggle no longer recognizes my effort? Perhaps I am wasting his time.

Then again, maybe Steve the Trainer knows exactly what he’s doing. Rational Debi, Defensive Debi, and Wounded Debi are all under the thumb of Robo Debi. She possesses a focus and determination that would impress and frighten The Terminator. Robo Debi lost over 100 pounds — twice. Robo Debi has survived — and buried — the family who put the “dys” in “dysfunctional”. Robo Debi has heard the word “cancer” and lived to tell the story. Robo Debi has, on two occasions, told attending physicians when to pull the plug on their patients. Now, that’s hard; this losing weight shit is nothing compared to the things that Robo Debi has already done. Maybe Steve was just trying to jump-start Robo Debi; he’s met all my personalities, so he might have been mining for gold.

Well, fair warning to one and all: just watch the hell out, now. Robo Debi is on the loose.

Affirmations are a funny thing. As I mentioned in a recent blog, I am trying to reorient myself by getting back to some exercises that have helped me stay focused in the past. Things like setting daily goals, keeping a food journal, and writing daily positive affirmations about myself (to counter years of now-ingrained negative thinking).

The first few days of affirmations were easy. I came up with the following:

• I am generous.
• I am kind.
• I am organized.
• I am successful.
• I am funny.
• I write well.
• I am better than my last mistake.
• I persevere.
• I am amazing.

You get the picture. As the days go on, it becomes more difficult to think of something I haven’t already said. Today, for example, this was my affirmation:

• I have never killed anyone.

Well — I guess that is true, but it might be a bit broad in its perspective. I decided to do some research on affirmations. According to one resource, affirmations “are you being in conscious control of your thoughts. They are short, powerful statements. When you say them or think them or even hear them, they become the thoughts that create your reality” (http://www.bouldercoachingacademy.com/affirmations/what-is-an-affirmation-they-will-change-your-life-forever/). Another site advises, “You can use “Positive Affirmations“, which are usually short positive statements targeted at a specific subconscious set of beliefs, to challenge  and undermine negative beliefs and to replace them with positive self-nurturing beliefs” (http://www.vitalaffirmations.com/affirmations.htm).

This is where it gets tricky. If I am trying to undermine existing negative beliefs, don’t I have to confront those beliefs first? For example, in the past I have often thought, “I am fat and ugly.” A counter-affirmation would sound something like, “I am thin. I am beautiful.” I have a couple of problems, here. First, I am uncomfortable with the concept of first thinking negatively of myself, in order to then think positively. Second, I am not thin. I am not beautiful. I am certainly “thinner”, and even at my top weight I was not “ugly” — but I do not think I am beautiful. I am not embarrassing. I am acceptable. I think affirmation-gurus would say that “I am thin and I am beautiful” is still an appropriate affirmation, because if I repeated it often enough, I would soon come to believe it.

Now we have a third problem. Do I want to believe a lot of things that aren’t true? I agree that positive affirmations are an important component to my life — I just want them to be truthful. (Now that I think about it, “I am honest” was one of my affirmations.) When I try to describe myself in a positive light, I want to identify aspects of myself that currently exist; things a new acquaintance would actually see in me. Perhaps I am not ready for a true affirmation — maybe these things I write are “semi-affirmations”, somewhere between negative self-talk and a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Right now, that works for me. If I can learn to recognize positive parts of who I am, and turn off the voice of negativity, I think that’s a major step in the right direction. Perhaps I have my newest affirmation, now: “I work hard on affirmations.”