Weighing me down

There are two topics rolling around in my head. Both are very emotional for me. Here's one of them….

I was looking at photos today and found myself staring, mouth agape, at myself in these pictures. They were taken in February of 2009 and I can't believe how far I've let myself fall in the past four years. It hurt to see myself. I'm going to try explain why….

My world turned upside down on a Friday in August of 2007. I watched my brother smile one last time and go to Heaven. I had to cover my mouth with both my hands to keep from screaming. It was the worst day of my life. I replay that moment in my head… a lot. I see him smile the most beautiful calm smile and then he left. I have never felt my soul rip like that. It was the most devastating thing I've ever been through. And yet I know how lucky I am to have been there. He found his peace that evening as the sun shone brightly in to his living room just as he died.

We had his memorial the following weekend. It was Labor day weekend. I honestly only remember little snippets of the hours we were in that funeral home. I know I had a CD that played his favorite songs, but I don't remember hearing them. I try and just can't. We cleaned out his apartment and gave all his furniture away. As we were about to leave his apartment I went back to the bathroom and closed the door. It was a weird set up as the door opened outward into a little hall. There behind the door was his favorite piece of artwork. It is a painting of ducks coming into a marshy area for the night. I had spoken with Tony weeks prior to his death about wanting to get a tattoo for him, to forever honor him on my body. He told me he knew just what he wanted me to have and that he'd take care of it. I never brought it up to him again. I thought he forgot. But finding that painting, where it was, I knew it was what he wanted my tattoo to be. It is a true work of art on my left shoulder. He is always there. I had it done just a few weeks after the pictures I was looking at today were taken. It's one of the few things I still like about my body.

After my brother died the world kept moving along. I felt like I was living in a fog. I went to a cousin's wedding but my heart wasn't there. It was a gorgeous wedding but the jerk I was dating and I had a lot of tension between us. He (the jerk) kept telling me it was in my head. Two weeks later after the wedding, just two days after our 2 year anniversary, he broke up with me. He told me I had a month to move out of his house and then told me to move in to the spare room. He didn't want to talk, he told me he didn't want to "deal with my grief". At some point he told me I was overreacting to losing my brother. I should have slapped him, but I was in shock. How did I end up in love with a man that didn't love me enough to help me grieve? How could I be so blind to his cruelty to others and to me? He never hit me, but he did have a way of making me feel like shit when he needed to boost his own ego.

To spite the jackass, I went and bought a cute little house in my hometown. Tony helped me find my little place. It was 816 sq feet with two bedrooms, a full basement and two car garage. It was the perfect size for me to restart… again… at age 31. I had celebrated my 31st birthday just a couple of weeks after Tony died. It was hard because the wedding was the same weekend. When I found my house, I knew Tony had made it happen for me. I had a good job, family around and I thought I could handle it.

WRONG! So fucking wrong. I had the family Christmas party at my small home, I went through all the motions of being cheery till the 1 year anniversary of Tony's death. Then it hit me. Like a fucking freight train… SMACK. I started to spiral down. I got sick with Shingles for three weeks. I missed work. I started not giving a shit about my job. I acted like I cared but on the inside I was tore up. I screwed around with a married guy then with a guy I couldn't have given two shits about. I made excuses not to see friends or family. And at the end of January 2009 I told my co-worker he could deal with the job and that I was done. I quit. I just walked out and didn't look back. I was on a high from how good it felt, but the aftermath wasn't what I thought it would be.

I came out to visit mom and dad in Feb. 2009. I made sure my visit coincided with my niece's visit. She and her boyfriend were coming from Germany and I hadn't seen her since 2004. It was a good visit. She and I got matching heart tattoos on our ankles. I went home to WI thinking I could handle what lay ahead.  Boy was I wrong- AGAIN!

I hadn't dealt with Tony's death at all. I started eating my feelings. I stopped any "extra-curricular" activities unless I felt that I could hide my sadness; no more darts, no more boat rides with co-workers, I stayed home in my self made cocoon. In June 2009 I was getting heavier in weight and in my heart. But then I met a guy. I thought he'd be a good one night stand, a little boost to the ego, a way to say I could salvage my life. Turned in to a relationship. Turned in to a major heartbreak a few months later because I wasn't ready to deal with my own demons, let alone his. 

January 2010 brought on a depression that took me two years to battle back against. I ate. I stayed home. I stopped being me. I lost friends but gained a sister and a best friend that helped me fight back. But the weight, that just kept going up. I stopped dating in September 2010 because I had stupidly fallen for a married man. I didn't know he was married, I bought his giant ball of bullshit- hook, line and sinker. After that, I didn't trust myself to find a good man. Part of me still doesn't.

When Tony first died, I didn't use that word. I said "he left". I couldn't say "died" because my heart broke with every use of the word. I missed him. I still miss him so much that there are days when all I want to do is curl up and cry. Those are the days I have learnt to fight against and how to handle the grief. When I moved here in September I saw myself as others have been. I am not healthy at this weight. I have topped out at 174 lbs. And for my 5'3 frame that's too much. My fibromyalgia and asthma would be better if I didn't weigh so much. When Tony died I weighed 125 pounds. I was slim and looked good. I liked how I looked. Now I don't.

I'm taking baby steps to get the weight down. The doctors finally figured out that I'm gluten intolerant and taking that out of my diet has helped me feel better and lose 10 pounds. I am trying to make sure I go up and down the stairs at least three times a day. I am watching my portion size. I will be walking as much as possible starting Feb 1. Each month this year I will be adding a new habit to get in to so that I can get back to a healthy weight and a happier me. I am on meds for the depression, the fibro and asthma. I am not looking at the scale every day, I have vowed to only weigh myself twice a month because to do it more often causes me to lose sight of the little changes.

I want to not hurt when I look at pictures of myself from the past 4 years. I want to see myself happy in my pictures. All I see now is how I've let myself down. And in letting my body get this far off track, I have not honored my brother. He was an avid outdoorsman, and here I am living in one of the most beautiful places on earth and I'm not enjoying it as he would encourage me to. I want to be proud of my body again, not ashamed. I don't need to be a size 4 to be happy. I need to be healthy again, so that I can take care of my mom as her dementia worsens. So that I can do more of the lifting and physical work around here that Dad's carrying the burden of. So that I can live to be 90 and keep telling the stories of the life of my brother.

~ The Composer

P.S. I didn't know which topic would win the battle in my mind till I started typing. I'm sure the other topic will flow out next….