Trigger Warning for discussion of my own personal food issues. If you know me or would simply rather not know about my food issues, I ask that you please come back on another day. Thank you so much! =0)

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So, y’all pretty much know by now that I own and run my own cafe. It’s a one-woman show. No big. The thing is, I’ve been struggling lately with eating during the day at all. I will eat something for breakfast, usually without issue. But then it’s suddenly 11:30 or 12 or OH NOES!!! It’s 1:30! And I haven’t had lunch and just thinking about it makes me so uninterested. Like, blegh.

I am wondering if it’s just stress (this current food issue has come and gone a few times since opening the cafe), but I can’t get rid of the stress of owning my own business. I’ve tried. I’ve also tried pretending that everything is okay. That lasted two weeks. I get home and I am hungry and want dinner and so my husband and I usually eat dinner at 6pm. Early for most people, but perfect for us. We get up at 6. I’ve never had an eating disorder (that I know of) and have generally had a healthy relationship with food. It bothers me though. Part of me thinks it’s just that I’m bored with the food I have here and so I’d for some reason rather go without. I usually end up eating a sesame seed bagel with whipped cream cheese and some carrot sticks because it’s reliably bland, not too acidic, easy to prepare and basically free because of my profit margin on those things. I get a general feeling of satiety, but not satisfaction, ya know?

I was doing so well with my intuitive eating and I don’t know, life happened?

Monday afternoon I was suddenly struck by a serious hunger pang (hadn’t had on of those in awhile) and looked at the time and it was 2pm. I actually considered not eating anything. Ugh! WTF?! This isn’t me! Why am I doing this to myself? Is it as simple as not being interested in what is on offer? Actually, nothing I eat excites me anymore. Why? I love food! I love cooking and baking and watching people on t.v. talk about or make it. So, what gives?

It has absolutely nothing to do with my weight or size or shape. Please understand/respect that. Also, no chance of pregnancy, so please do not ask. And for those about to suggest bringing my own lunch, I have no personal income, nor a microwave. This leaves my lunch options minimal at best. Maybe I’m still depressed. That’s actually more likely than I will ever let on, come to think of it. Ugh!

Do you have any suggestions? Do you have a similar food issue? Feel free to share anything TMI in comments. Thanks!

I completely bailed on blogging yesterday and I now see that I shouldn’t have. Sure, I was busy, but I was also hiding. I should have used TMI Tuesday as yet another opportunity to talk about those things that people say are taboo. Boo to that! But I didn’t write anything yesterday because I wasn’t feeling like my usual awesome self. I felt out of control and both over and underwhelmed by all that life has to offer right now. I know this isn’t a unique thing all for me, I know we all suffer from malaise and the doldrums from time to time. I see now that I could and maybe should have turned to you and this blog for support because y’all have been there for me before. Thank you for that.

The thing is though, I just don’t have much to say. As shocking as that is, I can’t say that there is one or many things bothering me. I think that the overwhelmed bit has a lot to do with what’s going on in the world. How those things can make us look on our own lives and what we can do to help others while love and prepare for our own. The underwhelmed feeling comes from the daily grind and how I’m struggling and how exhausted that leaves me every day.

I know I’m not alone. I would rather do more positive posts, and I will, but for now? For today? Let’s dump all of our baggage and worries and stress and concerns in the comments and offer each other a great big fat virtual hug and support one another. So let it out and let’s move on, together!
Thanks,
<3
S

**Trigger Warning for talk of suicide both as a concept and my own personal thoughts/memories. **

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People who are suicidal don’t want to die, they want to be free from the pain. This I believe wholeheartedly. I have been there. I was sometimes unable to grasp that it was simply the pain of living a life I did not choose to live, but deep down I felt the urge to do anything to take control over something and suicide did seem a viable option back then. I can see this now, of course, in hindsight. Back then I was blinded by it all, by my own perception of things, certainly.

I did believe at age fourteen that killing myself would be the only way. But then something changed. I fell into such a depression (now this was both before and after I met my abuser), that I suddenly convinced myself that suicide was too good for me and that the worst possible punishment, which I believed I deserved, would be to live! To endure the life I was living suited my path for personal detriment so perfectly, that daring to consider suicide seemed a luxury. Sick, no?

I allowed my emotions to rule my life. Every new little turn of events left me a devastated and crumpled, weeping ball of despair. Even after I escaped my abuser, the depression’s grips still clung to my heart. Everything requiring my attention left me exhausted. My new job, while fun and exciting, made me feel the need to play a role. I would hide my emotions from my new friends and co-workers the best I could, but my old friends knew the real me. Why they put up with it I’ll never know. I was the truest of Debbie Downers. I was Eeyore incarnate! A thick, heavy, black cloud really did, it seemed, follow me. I couldn’t shake it.

Then I began dating again. Now kids, this was when the internet was new and exciting and fun. This was when things like Prodigy and AOL had chat rooms where you would talk with people all over the world about a given topic (usually the name of the chat room was the topic to be discussed). I met far too many people from those chat rooms in real life. I had no self esteem, thought I had no value as a person. I did dangerous things. I met strangers in parking lots and hotel rooms (not in that way, surprisingly). I had a long distance relationship (if you can even call it that) with a guy in New Jersey (Dear Maude, we even had a song!). I was trying to be an adult. I was trying to try to be me. But I didn’t know what that was or what that should feel like.

Every new guy I met or dated or kissed lead to pure devastation! I was a heartache magnet! And I would revel in each rejection and break up and drive myself absolutely batty over it. I can’t even remember 90% of their names, but man did I think I loved them to no end at the time. Ya know? Then I met someone while working a gig for a music industry magazine.

It was a dark and dank club. I was only 19. Thinking back, I looked hot as hell, but I hadn’t a clue back then. He caught my eye, but I pretended not to notice him. Why allow an opportunity for rejection? I stuck to my task of talking with fans and giving out promotional goodies and chatting up the bands in attendance. As I was beginning to pack what was left of the goodies back into my giant tote bag, he leaned over and said something snarky about the band onstage into my ear. I was shocked. That band was the one I was supposed to be promoting, but he was right, they did suck! He asked if we could chat outside, I said yes. We talked and he walked me to my car. Then for some reason (I can’t recall how it happened) he was in my car as I was getting gas up the road. Then we were in his truck heading out to the beach. WTF?! I know, right? But that’s how it happened. It was magical, like out of a movie. The chemistry was electric! We made out in his truck at the beach that night into the wee hours of the morning. When the sun came up we headed back to get my car. I was smitten!

We saw each other almost every other day for the next two months. It felt like years and minutes simultaneously. Often we wouldn’t even have sex. We would usually take a shower and I would want to jump his bones, but I think he was on anti-depressants or something and so we would just lie naked on his futon and talk all night long. He was gorgeous! He had hair down to his ass. I loved to brush it and keep it nice for him. In the mornings he would get up to go to work and put on a suit and tie! First time I’d ever dated a guy with a career. Those ties? They kill me to this day. Put a rocker dude in a suit and I’m putty! Anyway, things started to get a bit weird when he got a letter from an ex girlfriend. Soon he started to call me his, “Little Ska Girl” (which I wasn’t) and make other remarks, “You’re only 19!” and I blindly played along.Then his ex came to town to “visit” and insisted they were just friends. I even talked to her on the phone a couple of times when he wasn’t home, she always said how highly he spoke of me.

The night before my 20th birthday I was at a friend’s place. We lived on lean cuisines and Jose Cuervo, lemme tell ya! Whew! But I had just found out that I’d gotten a promotion at work and wanted to celebrate and thus left him about five phone messages. He called me at my friend’s place (this is before cell phones, chil’ren) to tell me that he couldn’t see me anymore. He loved me so much that he just knew he wasn’t good enough for me. There were far better guys out there for me. He insisted it had nothing to do with the ex (or that she was a dominatrix and he a classic submissive) and simply that he couldn’t bear to keep me away from what was better for me and my future. What the fucking fuck?! I was beyond devastated! I begged for him to stay with me. To see me. To ANYTHING!!! I begged!!! He hung up.

I cried. I drank a bit (not much as I think I had a mental plan at that moment) and later, after telling my friend that I was fine and just going home, I drove out to that same beach the night I’d met him. It was cold and the winds were fast. I got out of the car and walked out to the edge, where the parking lot becomes a mix of cliffs and paths down to the beach below. I stood on this one particular cliff’s edge and watched as the toe of my boot made some rocks crumble and tumble down. I realized how far up I was. How rocky and nasty and ugly it was below in the dark. I watched the water crash on those same rocks. I knew I wouldn’t survive the fall. I walked back to my car and sat for a few minutes. I think I had a cigarette. I was as clear headed as one could possibly be (or so I thought). I tidied up my car a bit, wouldn’t want anyone to find it a mess (ha!). And then I walked back to that same cliff’s edge. I stared and stared and decided what must be done. Just then my pager went off, it startled me! It was my friend, checking on me. Getting startled like that made me have to pee, like really bad! There was nowhere to go for miles. So I walked over to some sandy bushes and peed in the great wide openness of the night. Feeling the wind on my ass and the relief of the moment gave me pause. I looked at my beeper again. I thought of my friend, Steph. I knew if I didn’t call her within twenty minutes she’d start paging me every five until I called her. So I got up, flipped off no one in particular and walked back to my car. A large truck drove by with headlights the size of my head. They were so bright turning away didn’t help and I felt nearly blind for a moment. But I also felt a sense of myself for just a second. I started the car, lit a cigarette, cranked up my radio and headed home.

It sounds like such a simple thing. It may seem that I didn’t intend to kill myself at all and that I was just looking for some sign that I belonged in this world. It’s possible, I suppose, but I knew in heart what my intentions were. I felt so alone and unwanted that I didn’t believe that anything could shake the feeling of absolutely needing to do that. As I was driving I started to think of my dad and my siblings, of my grandma and my friends. Man, they’d be so pissed at me! Ha-ha! I do think I laughed a little at that. I pictured my friend Summer’s face all twisted with anger and I fucking laughed at the absurdity of being angry at someone who died (at their own hands or not). I wish I could say that this was a major turning point for me, that I pulled myself out of my funk after that night, but I didn’t. I suffered for a long while after that night. That breakup did me in like no other ever had or would again. There is a certain song that I played, on repeat, for weeks on end. I would come home from work and sit in my room and listen to it over and over and cry and cry for hours until I had no tears left and went to sleep. No one knew this. You’re the first to know, actually. When I hear this song now? It jars me. I am instantly aware of the pain and the suffering and what I put myself through, too. It seems now an old familiar thing, a burden lifted and forgotten, back to remind me of what was. That same year I got two Chinese characters tattooed on my left shoulder blade. I rarely tell anyone what they mean out of embarrassment. I usually say it means happy birthday or something cheesy. What they really mean says more about myself at that time. The mean: Everlasting Pain (I would like to have them covered, but haven’t chosen with what just yet. And I am very broke.)

I was lucky. I had friends. They stuck by me, too. Even when I was at my worst. They would come over and put up with my roommates just to make sure I was okay. We would drink the cheapest wine in the world and have a total blast, even for a few hours to take the pain away. They didn’t know what I went through in the abusive relationship (only Summer knew). I started to date again, even met another guy online and he sold everything he owned to move out to CA from TX for me. UGH! What a mistake! Ha-ha! He was a mooch and a liar. Big news and big whoop. I was too tired to be hurt by him by then. What’s funny is that just a week after my birthday and promotion my boss had me conduct interviews for our x-mas staff. My first interview was my now husband. I hired him! You just never know what life will bring, man. You just never fucking know!

My depression stuck around for about a year after that beach incident. I told my two BFFs about that night. We laughed about it. One still says to this day that peeing in the great outdoors saves lives and reconnects us all with nature. Ha-ha! It’s true, in a way. I would rather it not become a trend though (just sayin’). I was in love with love and had no identity of my own. I was lost inside myself and felt trapped. It took a lot of self work, but damn, I am so glad that I got through that dark time. This is no fairy tale, I still struggle with depression. I have always struggled with my past. I hope to one day heal from it entirely. I try not to let it weigh me down. I consciously work and try very hard every single day to keep those feelings in the past. They threaten to come back always, but I know who I am and I know now that I want to live. And I will. I will live to see at least the age of 87!

I share my story here not to gain pity or sympathy, but to let others know that they are not alone. We’re never truly alone! People do care about you and want you to be happy! It seems a foreign thing in your moment of darkest despair, but I can assure you as a survivor that you don’t want to die. And there is a way out of the pain!

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), a free, 24-hour hotline available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Your call will be routed to the nearest crisis center to you.
Website here: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Or email me here: notblueatall@notblueatall.com Reach Out: I will listen and I will not judge.

Thank you for reading and helping me on a daily basis. You rock my socks!

<3
S

This is the part where I say something like: If you know me or would just rather not know about my sex life or preferences, please come back for your regularly scheduled fat blogging tomorrow. Thank you so very much!

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I don’t know what is up with me, but it’s like a switch got turned on and then so did I! I have been a mass of lustiness lately. I can’t explain it exactly, but it’s sort of like one day I was all, “Sex? Eh. Whatever, sure. I guess.” and the next I was all, “OMZ! I NEEDZ TEH SEX! GIVEZ TO ME NOW!” for no apparent reason. Ha-ha! I do understand that hormonal fluctuations may be the cause, but hey, might as well enjoy the ride, right?!

Being with my husband for nearly thirteen years (married half that), we’ve been through it all together. I was on the pill for many many years (too many if you ask me) and little did I know that this was the reason I kind of grew uninterested in sex overall. I enjoyed it when we did it, but it just wouldn’t occur to me to initiate or do it on my own at all at that time. I didn’t even masturbate for like years! I had no libido what so ever! Then I stopped taking the pill. There was about a week where I hated my husband and everyone else in the world while I was coming off the hormones. Not a good week for anyone around me I’m sure. But once I’d stopped the pill and started my regular cycles again (because I was doing my packs back to back so I’d only get 4 periods a year) suddenly sex seemed like a great idea and one I’d think about and do way more often than before.

My poor husband. Ha-ha! No, he’s awesome. And luckily for me, patient, too! We tried all kinds of things, but in the end we stick to fairly simple sexy times. Now I’m the one who initiates sex. Sometimes with a simple, “Wanna do it?” or just gentle touching and rubbing or holding of each other. It’s fantastic! And it’s never been better! Now, I’ll admit to being a bit of a Pillow Princess, but not because it’s a preference of mine. Okay, so here’s where I’ll get really TMI: My husband usually gets me off first by fingering my clit while I’m on all fours and then after I climax he will penetrate me, in this same position, until he orgasms. We use condoms and lube and it’s fun! I can’t sing the praises of lube enough, use it, it’s the best! I wish I’d known about it sooner!

Now this is a combined effort. I would much prefer we please and tease each other back and forth and vary penetrative and oral and everything in between (heavy fondling?) until we finally must just fuck…ya know? But I don’t think that this is his preference and he seems to like to focus on one thing at a time. I’m too much of a multi-tasker, I guess. So lately I’ll give him some appetizer oral and then he’ll get down to making me cum and then we’ll “do it” and that is that. It’s always fantastic, our needs are simple and always met. Rarely any disappointment. And when there is it’s usually because of trying something new.

We bought a liberator set a couple of years ago. I had read about them somewhere and then heard from a fat blog somewhere that it had helped with different positions. So we got a set and tried it a few times and I guess just never got the hang of it or I don’t know?! We tried a few positions, but in the end just stuck with what we knew and kept it simple. We still have our set, somewhere. But lately I’ve been mentally obsessed with me-on-top sex. I had an idea of how to go about it the other day and tried it, but I miscalculated my height versus the height of our bed and thus it didn’t exactly work. For me I think being on top is a problem not because of being self-conscious (after thirteen years? Yeah, right!), but of feeling unsupported. I got on top and all and then sort of just stayed in the lean-forward position with my hands on either side of his shoulders on the bed. Just sort of moving forward and back with me in a sort of doggie position while he was under me. It was awkward and the reason I have long said I hate the girl-on-top position. He said I should try to sit up and place my hands on his chest, but I just wasn’t feeling it at that point.

I would often fantasize about using the couch or an office chair. This latest attempt I had thought I could have him lay at the very edge of the bed and I could just put one leg up on the bed and thus have most of my weight and muscle strength from the other leg on the floor for more control and movement. But my legs are too short or our bed slightly too tall for it to work. I thought about trying again with the liberator, but I don’t even know where to start and I don’t even know why it’s been in my mind for so long. I don’t fear crushing him at all and I’m fine with him seeing me in the all-together (as they say). I just can’t feel comfortable or supported enough to sit up. In my mind it works out great (he-he) but in reality? Not so much.

Then yesterday morning I woke up after having an incredibly sexy dream! It was so fantastic, but I haven’t broached the subject with my husband yet. I feel, honestly, like I’m some sort of nympho suddenly and he doesn’t know what to do with me. He’s seems up for the task at hand (so to speak), but also not aggressively so. I’m in no way forcing him to participate, but I also don’t feel like he’s as into it as I am. And that kind of sucks, to be frank about it. This dream? It was of him slowly and methodically tying me up (sort of like in this book, which I wanna check out) and teasing me every few minutes until I was tied in such a way that left me begging for, well, more more more! I’d always seen myself as a dominant lady in the boudoir, but this dream along with other fantasies has lead me to the conclusion that I am more of a submissive than I had previously realized. I’ve never really ventured into the BDSM world, but for some reason it’s very attractive to me right now.

The funny part is that many many years ago when we’d only been living together a couple of years, I had found a print-out of a Japanese girl tied up in this fashion and I was so horrified (and completely immature) that he got turned on by this that we had a big fight about it. I think, now, that it had more to do with the gal in question being so tiny while I wasn’t. I didn’t see/say it that way, it was more, “Oh my gawd, how can you be into that and be into me and is this normal or healthy and oh my gawd” (many tears and shouting followed). Oh how wrong I was. But now I’m afraid that I scarred him with that incident and now he won’t talk about what turns him on or what he looks at in the porn dept. online (because I think there’s only one department, ha-ha!).

Sex is such a fantastic stress reliever, man. It’s also a ton of fun! And great cardio! Ha-ha! It’s just so human and basic and wonderful. I wish I’d know that ages ago! It seems so simple a concept, but you know, girls aren’t suppose to like it, right?! Ha-ha!

I can’t be the only one with these concerns, right? Any suggestions? Advice? Tips? Have your own sexy time concerns or fears? Tell me about it!

Today’s TMI post is about Knowing & Trusting Your Body and how others try to make you mistrust yourself or simply call you a liar. If this is triggering for you, please come back tomorrow for the regularly scheduled post. Thank so much.

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Knowing & Trusting Your Body…

And your experiences inside that body! Yeah, I said that. Why would I say it? Because, y’all, I had a moment the other night when talking to my husband about my dental work history (because part of my temporary filling broke off and I need to get in there to have it fixed) that made me realize that not only does my husband not remember shit, he also doesn’t trust my own experiences within my own fucking body. Don’t get me wrong, I love the man like no one else on this earth, but I felt invalidated and vulnerable and so I have this newest experience to share.

All of this turned into a discussion about all of the work I’ve had done on my teeth and what I still need. When I went into why I still have a temporary filling on a tooth that needs both gum surgery and a permanent crown he asked why I hadn’t had it done. OMZ! A.) We have no money! B.) the first time I had the same procedure done I came home with my face bruised on one entire side and my lips completely lacerated. It was so bad I almost couldn’t stand up long enough to pay. The ortho-surgeon knew it, too. He knew he was extra rough with me. He even made a fucking joke about it after. ASSHOLE! The moment I paid the tears came and the shitty receptionist look horrified (yes, she was rude and shitty, it must be said) as I ran to my fucking car!

It took me a couple of days before I called my own dentist to complain about the surgeon he referred me to. When he heard about my experience and the injuries that resulted he apologized profusely and insisted he will no longer refer his patients to him. I was in such pain and pretty shaken up that I think it triggered some old stuff at the same time, too. (Though I only realized this last night when retelling this story to my husband.) I felt fucking violated! To top it off I had to do the salt rinses for a month after until the stitches healed and I got my permanent crown installed. When I told my husband that I remember it so clearly because he gave me shit every single day and insisted I wasn’t doing the salt rinses correctly even though he wasn’t actually witnessing my doing them? I almost lost my temper. Almost, because then he mumbled something about my possibly not allowing him into the bathroom to inspect me. ASSHOLE!*

I knew at that moment that nothing I fucking said would make a damned difference. He did not believe me when I shared my own experience in my own body. Sometimes this is just the way of the world, even when you think you know a person, man, they can surprise you. And this isn’t the first time. This happens to fats the world over. Sadly, it even happens to those whose lives are filled with FA goodness. Ha-ha! He still doesn’t believe me when I say you cannot eat your way to diabetes (if this is the first time you’ve heard that sentence click here and read the comments, too). When I said that to friends one night you would have thought I took a shit on the floor in front of them (okay, not really). But jaws did drop and I was quickly shut down.

And this happens all of the time when you’re fat. Maybe not always because you’re fat, but I feel like it happens more when you are. We are called liars by our doctors, friends, family and dentists and treated much differently than our thinner counterparts. I had a dentist (not my regular one, he rocks) ask if I ate a lot of candy. When I said no he insisted, “There’s no candy bowl at the office? Hm?” I was infuriated! I mean, the nerve! But there it is folks, your good fat word isn’t good enough for the non-fat sometimes. So I am making it my personal mission that when this comes up again, because let’s face it it totally will, I will look the person dead in the eye and say slowly and clearly, “Really?! You are telling me that my own experience in my own body is a lie? You have some nerve and I would rather speak to someone who will talk to me like an adult human being!” We’ll see what happens. Ha-ha!

What have you been told was a lie when it obviously (to you at least) wasn’t? Have you been invalidated by someone you love? Tell me all about it.

*Yes, I can call him that, but no one else. Please do not for one second consider calling him names.

**Also, I am still accepting “Dear Auntie Fats” questions for an upcoming weekly advice type column. Please email any/all questions: notblueatall@notblueatall.com