Well, life has been so weird right now that I would need a huge fuck it bucket to chuck all that is fuck-it worthy. It's not terrible awful like things have been in the past just annoying as shit awful and I just love to be annoyed.
I finally took a huge leap and decided to do something about my weight besides letting it slowly kill me. Now I am flipping out because well, slow suicide by fat was the only real plan I have ever had in life. Stuffing down my feelings with food has been my way of life since I was old enough to start saying I'm hungry and want more. My depression and my fat are best of friends. My weight keeps life at a short, fat, arm length. Not letting anyone or anything close enough to hurt me. Well, at least that is what I think happens. But in fact I still get very hurt and still don't understand humans or life or anything but hurt.
What will I do without fat to hide behind? I don't fucking know. I really don't know. I am really good at avoiding life and being overly passive so I will probably lose some weight, figure out how to cheat the system and cling to my old habits because change is so painful. Being fat is the only thing I know, my only coping mechanism. And there are times that I think it is my only choice.
I have such a huge support system of family and friends that really do love me and want me to be successful no matter what it is I choose to do. They want me to choose happiness and love and health. Even when it is not what I want to choose. If I had my choice I would stay in bed with the covers up over my head to keep out the monsters and just let what happens, happen.
But I don't. You know people always say "don't give a shit what others think or what they say" or some crap like that. It's true, I am not going to argue it's validity but if it wasn't for people and their thinking and their feelings I wouldn't go on. I wouldn't be. I don't want to put anymore hurt out there in the world than there already is. I might not feel worthy of love or life but I don't want to purposely hurt those that love me.
And it's time like this that I miss Tony so damned much. He loved me, fat, crazy, sad and mean. He loved me in spite of me. It might not have been the healthiest marriage or love but it was always there. I took advantage of it. I ignored it. I didn't let it blossom because of the hurt or maybe it was the hurt that wouldn't let the love blossom. What kills me the most is we were working on things and the last month I had with him was one of the happiest I had in a long time. He seemed more at peace and I was more in tune to his needs. Even when he was in the hospital and I couldn't make any noise or turn on the light because he felt so bad and I was annoyed for a second it would go away and I would touch him, rub his legs or his back or just lay my hand on him. He loved gentle touches like that and I was stingy with them because of the hurt. Maybe the touches would have healed some of the hurt? I don't fucking know. All I know is now, right now at this second, I would stuff my fat ass on his lap and wrap my arms around his body and kiss his fuzzy head and I would never, ever let go.