Manifesto of Change

Here's the thing. I can write about my problems until my fingers fall off; it's therapeutic. However, I don't want to get stuck chasing my own tail of issues. To the outsider, I might be bitching too much, or focusing on my losses too much, or stuck in a holding pattern of regret.

Regret is a waste of time.

Things change even in infinitesimal amounts. This weekend my almost 20 year old indoor cat decided he had enough, taking off to explore the world as his last hoorah.  He's been out before, but never for four days; and I am left to struggle between sadness and hope. Sadness because I didn't get the chance to say goodbye, and hope because I know the courage his little soul has in taking on the world at his age. He has become my new hero who has delivered a powerful message to me. It's time for me to do the same.

I have decided to sell my house.

It's time to acknowledge that the reasons for buying a house have been miscalculated. I felt that in a house I would feel more of a sense of community, but I have not done so in either houses I have owned. Neighbours in reality, I have discovered, bear no resemblance to neighbours in the media. Sure, there are the waves and quick hellos as I walk to my car or water my garden or shovel the insane amounts of snow that fall, but there have been no block parties, or casserole dishes or friendly cups of tea. In a house, as in an apartment, I have been left pretty much to my own devices.

In a big city, everyone tends to their own, and good luck to you if you don't have a family or a group of friends that you've grown up with. You have to struggle to make and keep connections, otherwise you're a floating buoy in a sea of nuclear families and couplings. I thought purchasing a house would have given me a sense of belonging, instead, it's given me bills, and chores and headaches.

So it's time to call it a failed experiment and go back to compartmentalized living. I need an open concept unit with windows, in an area that's mixed residential and commercial. I want to be able to walk around, window shop, go for a coffee, get to know my neighbourhood. I need to be in a environment that's not solely occupied by families, couples and retirees. I'm looking for the right lifestyle, not just a place to live. I'll leave the gardening, snow shoveling and remodeling to those who love it.

It's time.

It's time to focus on the things I love like painting, jewelry-making, writing, dancing and photography.  It's time to look forward not backwards. It's time to heal from past wrongs, mistakes and abuses. It's time for my manifesto of change. Rather than go home to read or watch TV or putter around, I am putting together an interesting cocktail of classes for me to take during week nights. It's time to learn more about and participate in the things I have always wanted to do. It's time to act rather than wish things would change in my life. Now that I understand why I'm so screwed up, it's time to get over it, and just live the best life I can in a new environment with renewed interest.

It's time to follow in my beloved cat's footsteps. Meow.

~~~~~~~~~~

As I browsed through my favorite bloggers, I found that, yet again, Jamie Ridler has worked her magic. 

In her Wishcasting Wednesdays Jamie asks, "What do you wish to transform?"

 And there it is, perfectly aligned with my post. 

I wish to transform my life. 

Please join the Wishcasters as we weave some dreams into reality.

The Wrong Man

It's as simple as a choice, but any given choice can be monumental, no matter how simple or difficult. We make choices every day sometimes without even thinking about them because they have been so ingrained into our subconscious. They almost seem instinctive, but they're not. They're learned, like deciding which route to take home. What items to order from a take-out menu. Who we're attracted to.

We've all made choices that we question, in hindsight. The "if only I had" is probably one of the most common statements. There are many choices that I've made without knowing that they would turn out to be staggering turning points in my life. I've let opportunities go. I've taken wrong turns. I've chosen questionable paths. But, I can't be too hard on myself because I did the best I could do with the information, the perspective and the maturity I had at the time.

And I chose the wrong men. Almost like clockwork.

It would be easy to become bitter, saying all men are pigs; but that's just ignorant. There are many wonderful, courageous, intelligent, caring, loving, admirable men out there. I just didn't choose them. I fell into a pattern of destructive relationships.

Given that I was emotionally stunted, physically tortured and psychologically impaired early in my childhood, it makes absolute sense. I grew up without the invaluable education of getting to know the opposite sex. So, it's not surprising that mistrust and fear became ingrained in me. Experience became instinct; an instinct that has brought me to where I am today.

At 17, I started with a series of anguished crushes on men who neither had the knowledge nor the capacity to understand someone such as myself. They probably didn't know I existed while I went through into the nightmarish world of unrequited love- the kind of love that not only is the loneliest, but one that leaves the most emotional scars in a person already rife with them.

My first full fledged boyfriend, at the age of 20 seemed to start with promise. I met him at a bar, and fell in love with him because he asked to brush my hair. How was I to know that this unbelievably romantic beginning would end in disaster a year later? It turned out that this sweet gentle man, chosen because he was so unlike the abusive role models I grew up with, would eventually cheat on me, get another woman pregnant and marry her, all while still carrying on a relationship with me.

That was not an auspicious beginning. It was followed by a string of misses until I met the man I was to eventually marry 3 years later. After his divorce at the age of 27, he came to stay with his mom who lived in my apartment building. I noticed him because he would start coming out to the terrace where I hung out with my coffee and crossword puzzles. He was a gentle, funny and loving guy. How was I to know that he also  was a dead beat dad with a drug problem? I found that out after we got married.

In the four years we were together, our relationship became a project for me. In the beginning, I got him to pay his ex-wife child support, to go back to school and get a better paying job. I cleaned up his look. I reinvented the man. I was so proud of him, until I noticed he spent hours in the bathroom, could not sustain an erection and was acting very erratically. Three years into our marriage, I stopped sharing his bed, stopped being his partner, and became his therapist. By the fourth year, I gave up trying and got out to save myself.

I was 27, bruised by two shatteringly disappointing relationships, and clueless as to what went wrong. I needed to rally myself and find a way to navigate life and romance. That's when I discovered the treacherous world of online and embarked into an even more destructive set of relationships.

But that's a story for another day.

Today, I'm wiser. I understand what went wrong, but I'm still struggling with the aftereffects. If I'm ever to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship with a man, I need to navigate into safer emotional waters. I need to identify the trigger within myself, all the barriers I have put up, and finally be free.

The Factor of Zero

The journey toward change and understanding has two legs: reflection and action. These two must go hand in hand in order to achieve anything successfully. One without the other would cause an imbalance that would topple the blocks and make us start all over again. Without reflection, there's impulsive action; without action, there's endless reflection. As I reflect here, I act out there. My thoughts have become the blueprint of my decision to change my life into something more meaningful, productive and fun.

To that end, I need to make the following disclaimer. This is really a communication with myself, a communication I'm making public in the hopes that it might help anyone else in some small way. It's also a way of keeping myself honest - when I hit "publish", I'm committing to my words. In order to reach this point in my process, I have had to overcome the fear of being scorned, or judged, or pitied because of what I am publishing here. It's of vital importance I do not censor the feelings, thoughts and words that need to come out for fear of public scrutiny. I know it comes with the territory and I'm good with it.

I have noticed what I like to call the factor of zero come into play in my life quite often. It's the nadir to the zenith, the low to the high, the exhale to the inhale. My life all but empties out of people. It's as if it's multiplied by zero; and we know anything that's multiplied by zero equals zero. For whatever reason, whether by decision or circumstance, I lose people. They never call again; they move on with their lives, without me.

I tried to stay in touch often realizing that I'm the only one putting in the effort. One sided relationships never work, so I gave up, doing what I have been trained to do - blame and berate myself. I would ponder, some say obsess, about the reasons why this happened, what I did wrong, why I am so cursed, or boring or unlovable. I felt like a deflated tire tossed in the landfill of life.

How freaking dramatic, right?

On the opposite side of the coin, I have had to make the difficult decision of cutting off some people out of my life. This is no judgement on them; sometimes in relationships there's a chemical imbalance, the explosion of vinegar and baking soda. We're just not good for each other. These decisions have been difficult indeed because they often happen during the zero factor phases in my life. This is made doubly difficult by the looming threat of aloneness. I don't say loneliness because I am comfortable in my own company; and I can amuse myself; but I would be lying if I said I don't need people. Quite the opposite is true. I need a consistent tribe in my life.

The question remains, what factors need to come into play so that I can achieve this? How can I eliminate the factor of zero once and for all? This is where action will come into play.

Emergence

To the outside observer, my process of healing probably seems like a bipolar ride in a dysfunctional theme park. It ain't no piece of cake being on it either. There are days when I'm coasting high, scattering rose buds on the road toward a brighter future, and others where I feel like I've been fitted with the cement shoes of my past. And I'm sinking in futility.

This is made doubly hard by my propensity to sabotage myself, an activity ingrained in me by years of being constantly and relentlessly criticized. Somewhere inside me, there's a girl cowering in her room praying that her exacting father will finally realize that she isn't perfect. She is fiercely, and often, obnoxiously defended by the warrior woman I've created to shield her from the seemingly endless barrage of fate's stumbling blocks.

Am I just another case of a bipolar in a dissociative state? Or am I just trying to survive the challenges this life has posed me? 

As I sit in my fun room, listening to a bird sing through my open window, seeing the first awakening from the thaw, sipping my morning coffee, I make plans in my head.  Maybe it's time to stop wishing that things were different, that my life hadn't been hijacked onto this collapsing trajectory, and actually take steps to change things. There's no magic formula to happiness. Happiness is or it isn't.

I have been making visualization sketches about the things that I have the ability to change, like where and how I live my life. Then as my pencil poised for another sketch of my optimal loft space, I started to create this...

I called this sketch "emergence". It wants to evolve into a painting that will serve not only as an inspiration but as a driving force for me to get off the bipolar express, and begin becoming functional again.

The Food Closet

"Experts" often ask what our relationship with food is. My answer? I don't have a relationship with food. I have relationships with people, some healthy and others not so much. I'm not in love with food. Food is not my comfort. Food is not my joy. I don't live to eat. I'm not using food as a surrogate for love.

But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of  unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.

But...

I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.

I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater.  I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.

I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.

Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."

Those are the preconceptions that the media filters into our subconscious. It's only sensible that ugly people be lonely, and inconceivable that a hot babe experience loneliness. Being fat is equated with lack of success and poverty. Only skinny people are successful and financially stable. On the plus side (pardon the pun), it's remotely possible for someone to be marginally attractive if they're overweight.

That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.

 This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.

This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.

Fat Chance

No one wants to be fat. Not really. Some people have the confidence to own it and still be fabulous, but most of us struggle. How can we not? We are constantly bombarded with the notion that obesity can kill, that being overweight reduces the quality of life, that fat people aren't aesthetically pleasing or sexy. In a world of size 0, size 14 and up have no chance.

It's not just the images that bombard us on magazine covers and television. It's not the fact that a fat person either is the "funny" one or the one who is publicly ridiculed and mocked. It's the fact that any celebrity, usually a woman, who is a size 12 or up, who could be a role model for an alternate body image, who has the ability to create a more balanced aesthetic, has jumped ship. They sponsor a weight loss program and shout to the world how great it is. Let's ignore the fact that they have a team of chefs, personal trainers, and plastic surgeons on staff. Let's ignore that they have the time, money and luxury to reinvent themselves. Just look how fantastic they look now that they're "normal". And the not so sub text? You can be normal too, not a pathetic, unattractive, FAT loser. Cha ching.

Fat is the new leprosy.

I sometimes see that horrified look in people's eyes. "How can you do that to yourself?" their disgusted ogle states. "Stop eating so much. (They haven't seen me put a morsel of food in my mouth.) Did you eat a small starving nation to get like that?"

Fat jokes abound. There are even terms for fat chicks who go out with their better looking (read: thinner) friends. She's called a "grenade". Absolutely lovely. That pretty much ensures that women above a certain weight would need Herculean bravery to go out. They don't want to anyway. No. They want to stay home, alone, eating creme puffs and watching TV. Or. They can always try those big and beautiful sites trolled by men who like big women. Fat has become a fetish.

"So, if you hate it so much;" asks the person who has never struggled with the esteem-destroying condition, "why don't you just lose weight? Stop eating. Get on a treadmill."

The sympathy abounds. People with anorexia get concern. People who are fat get contempt.

Here's the thing, the issue isn't food. Food contributes to the problem, but it's just a symptom. Sure, this can be rectified with a decreased intake of calories and an increased expenditure of the same. It's not rocket science. The problem goes beyond the surface that everyone is so occupied with. It's psychological.

When I lost 100 pounds, I didn't' change my diet at all. My attitude towards food changed. It became a means to an end - satiating hunger - not an end in itself. I enjoyed my meals, just as I enjoy a cool glass of water when I'm thirsty. I also walked about 20 minutes to and from work. That's it. No diet plan. No gym membership. No supplements or teas or other gimmicks. I was living life as unfettered from emotional trauma as I have ever had.  It was the first time in my life, I felt like me. And the true me emerged.

What caused me to gain weight again, was new emotional trauma; but I'll get to that in another post.

The vital juncture in one's life to having and maintaining a "healthy body weight" is early on. If a child gains too much weight at a crucial time in her life, during or just before the onset of puberty, that equates to an increase in fat cells. You can reduce the size of fat cells, but you can't get rid of them. So, the struggle to keep those damn, rotund jailers at bay becomes a lifetime struggle.

It's vitally important for parents to make sure that their children and tweens learn a balanced attitude toward food and physical activity. I'm not advocating to go all commando parent and restrict everything. I'm talking about a balance between healthy eating and the occasional treat, a line between sedentary activities and ones that require physical movement.

Teaching a child to love themselves is one of the most important things a parent can give her.

The problem often lies with the fact that the adults in obese children's lives also have an unbalanced attitude toward food. It's highly likely that a child of obese parents will in turn become obese. Once the child becomes obese, even in a nation where obesity is the rule not the exception, the psychological trauma begins. The name calling. The ugly clothing. The being singled out. The false assumptions. If you add any kind of psychological, physical or sexual abuse to the mix, then it becomes a catastrophic condition.

It would be nice if we lived in a world that celebrated all sizes. It would be nice if the medical profession hadn't sold out so completely to the pharmaceutical. It would be great if profits weren't attached to people's physical or psychological well being. It would be nice if everyone had a beautiful home and their needs met. That's a fantasy. The reality of the situation is far from it.

What I would settle for, is maybe being allowed to exist without being judged within an inch of my life as I struggle with the issues that have smothered me in layers. But I know, there's a fat chance of that happening.