Food For Thought

Hello, my name is Holly. I am an overeater who comes from a long lineage of overeaters who is now trying to teach my niece and nephew not to overeat. It annoys me that there are people who just get full, put their forks down, and go to bed. Even if I cut off my arms, I would find a way to get that last Pringle into my mouth. I have accepted that food issues are going to be my cross to bear, but I am hopeful that the tips I give my niece and nephew (that are obviously from offline, because what do I know about having consumption control?) will help them to avoid a fate such as mine. 

Everyone has issues, but why can't my issue be one that people can't see? Why can't I be a sex addict or a thief or a liar and still get to walk around skinny and cute with no one being the wiser? Why can't I be the adulterer that walks around judging overweight folks, telling them to "just stop eating" and to "get up and walk"? I would be just as good a hypocrite as the next guy. It's just not fair! 

I have gotten so upset with food that I have started to protest it. Even when I am hungry, I just find myself not wanting to eat. What is the point? I am just going to get hungry again, make bad choices, not feel full, then make the same overeater mistakes all over again. I need a break just as food, per usual, is breaking my spirits. 

The other day, I watched my 2-year-old niece eating a granola bar. Halfway through finishing it, she didn't want it anymore, threw it on the floor, and then walked away. I think the healthy people call that "portion control". Maybe there is hope for my bloodline yet! 

Diaries of a No-Lose Loser

As I sit here eating Popeye's Chicken for lunch, I find myself feeling a little sad and defeated. My college homecoming is coming up, and I am super excited to go. I can not wait to reconnect with some people that I have not seen in almost 20 years. Everyone is talking about how fun it is going to be, and I just know it is going to be amazing! But I am disappointed, thinking the same thing that I think before every homecoming: Aw man, I was supposed to be skinny by now!

I gotta tell you kids, I was pretty dilulu when it came to this homecoming. It is the 100-year anniversary of my alma mater, and I had fantasies of literally showing up on campus in rainboots and a thong. I would spend the whole weekend flirting with boys and twerking on car hoods. I have lost a little weight, but nowhere near enough to attend the day party topless as originally planned. I just knew that this homecoming was going to be high energy. It won't be. I can already tell. The other day, while I was planning the events I am going to attend, I had possibly the strongest urge I've ever had to take a nap. Maybe if I try really hard, like sleep through breakfast and skip lunch, I can lose 200lbs in 30 days. I will get started after I finish my Popeye's. 

13 Pounds

Last week, I had a gyno appointment at the hospital. Like most women, I wasn't jumping for joy for the appointment, but when you are a woman, you can not avoid these things. One of the reasons I was not excited was because I was going to ride into the city with my aunt to save money, and she would drop me off at the hospital on the way to work. I miscalculated how long I would be waiting for my appointment. It was a whopping three hours! When it was finally time for my appointment, I could hardly keep my eyes open! Another reason I was not excited for my appointment was because I was not looking forward to getting weighed. 

Let me tell you, nothing can ruin my day like getting weighed. However, I decided to force myself to get weighed so I could see how much weight I had gained. Even with changes in diet, I was feeling more sluggish and even heavier than usual. I was not excited. When the moment of truth came, I stood on the scale and cleared my head completely, a trick I found keeps me from screaming when I see the usually tragic number. When my weight came up on the digital screen, I was shocked. I had lost 13 pounds! 

This may not sound like a lot to you, but it is beyond a lot for me. I was beginning to think that I literally could not lose weight, seeing that I never do. I have consistently gotten bigger my whole life. I didn't even lose weight in New Orleans, walking to my classes in 120-degree heat! Yet somehow, I had lost 13 pounds. For the first time ever, I was feeling hopeful about my weight. I felt like I was going to burst!

Of course, I had to tell a few of my girlfriends. I mean, this was really momentous! Out of the seven friends that I told, only about half of them seemed genuinely excited for me. The other half had very low energy, disappointing responses. However, I was not surprised. 

For years, my friends (particularly the ones from college) have been hammering me to lose weight. To diet. To exercise. A few years ago, I got serious and tried to diet on my own and was excited to talk about it with my friends. The excitement results were about the same, and this made me sad. I figured that my friends didn't really think I could make any positive changes in my life in this area, or maybe even thought I was lying. 

But after talking to my friends, I realized that the reasoning was more maniacal: they didn't want me to lose weight. Not really. 

This was a sour pill to swallow, but follow me here. Life deals you a lot of punches and a lot of change. Moves. Deaths. Promotions. Layoffs. Loves. Breakups. However, in all of this, there is one constant: Holly is and probably will always be fat. Not just fat, but really fat. No matter how bad or tough their lives were, mine would always be worse because of my weight and all that entails. Even if the worst thing ever happened to them, that would be okay, because at least, at the end of the day, they weren't me. Many of them couldn't even imagine my pathetic existence. No boyfriend. No cute mini dresses. No travel on an airplane. I really do believe that this gives them comfort. A lot of comfort. 

This all sounds horrible, right? Who wants to believe that the people who "love" them would bask in the glory of their bad health? Believe you me, it happens. 

If I lose anything else, I'm keeping it to myself. You won't be able to tell I've lost anything until I hit big numbers anyway. Plus, the lackluster reaction kind of hurts my feelings. Who wants to feel like they aren't supported by their support system?

Ozemp- Not

Like every other fat person with so much as two nickels to rub together, I have started taking Ozempic. You have probably heard of it by now. Ozempic, and other drugs like it, have been coined as weight loss wonder drugs. They first became famous when celebs started taking them, losing A LOT of weight in what seemed like overnight. Then the common folks like myself got a hold of it and reported similar results. I have been taking it for two months. Still fat. 

I can't even quantify how horrified I'm going to be if I go down in history as the only person that didn't lose weight on this drug! Admittedly, I have not realistically managed my expectations. By November, I wanted to be able to show up at my homecoming in rain boots and a thong. It looks like I'll be arriving in a "slimming" and modest trapeze top and mom leggings. 

"Do you know what those celebrities did to get such crazy results from this drug?" my doctor exclaimed during our virtual visit. "They have trainers that work them out three hours a day. A nutritionist. A personal chef. They dont eat sugar or carbs. Not even a sweet potato!" She assured me that I was on track and would see results as my dose goes up. 🫤. We'll see. 

My therapist swears my face looks thinner. I just think she's saying that to encourage me so I don't quit. I also think she may have been thrown off by the shiny, silky new bonnet I wore to our last session. 

Fat has been on me like white on rice since I was a baby, literally. Many people in my life think I've never tried to lose weight but I have, I'm just not excited about admitting my failures. The summer I became a vegetarian I actually gained weight! Water aerobics classes. Sleeping a lot so I'm not awake to eat. Weight loss shakes. Skipping meals. I feel like if this doesn't work I'm doomed! Plus I'm scared that new health guy in office is coming for the fatsos next. I could spend the rest of my life in a chub work camp in the mountains, making flip flops in a room with no air conditioning. Lets hope it doesn't go that far. Lets hope this works. 

Worth The Weight

When I was but a young fatty in middle and high school, music videos on BET and MTV were everything to me. This was back when the show Rap City stayed on for like five hours, and when Carson Daly was the man. Like many of the horny young boys I went to school with, my favorite part of the music videos was the women. If only I could be as sexy as the women in the DMX feat. Sisqo video for "What You Really Want"; if only I looked like the three Kims, Latoya and Tina. I can't think about how much time I wasted fantasizing about getting so small that I could show up at school in a jean FUBU short set. This I think about as I choke down the yogurt and tuna in my meal-prepped breakfast and lunch. 

I love you so I can't lie to you: meal-prepping has sucked butt cheeks. By my third week of doing it, I had stopped eating breakfast and lunch altogether. That's right, I got to a point where I would rather starve than eat the carrots and salad that I had prepared for myself. Eating these joyless meals was actually making me emotional and depressed. I mean, how many blueberries can one person eat?!

Last Saturday when I went to volunteer, I overhead the 20-something volunteers talking about what they were doing to manage their weight. And I say manage because if either one of these three girls lost so much as a pound, they would die. I interrupted the conversation when I heard one of them talking about putting some type of thick weightloss powder into their water. I just had to know how they are able to stay so small. They talked about not eating until they were full, not snacking, drinking meal replacements, exercise, all of which sound horrible to me. They talked about being hungry but deciding to eat what was best while still trying not to allow dieting to ruin their lives. 

Looking at these three beautiful young women, I realized that they had to be keeping something from me. How could they be content drinking Slim Fast shakes while everyone else had pancakes? Later in the week, it came to me: the one thing that keeps them small, more than the fad diets and cleanses, is the fear of getting fat! But I am already fat, so where does that leave me? I guess the fear of dying would be a motivator if I didn't already feel dead eating this nasty food. 

Somewhere along the line, they also got comfortable with being hungry and even not eating for long periods of time. This is something that happens young, for I remember watching those Lifetime movies about White girls with eating disorders and vowing to starve. I was typically binge-eating cookies before the next movie came on. 

I think I would be okay with dieting if anyone had been honest with me about how sad it would make me. Since I can't swallow my emotions with food, all I do is sit around and mope, thinking about hurtful things that have happened to me that Cheetos helped me to forget. So, I'm laying here feeling everything, wishing I had a piece of cake. IT'S A PARTY! 

Unlike the other diets I have tried, I am going to try to stick with this one. My doctor says that my goal should be losing enough weight to lower my blood pressure and cholesterol. My goals is to lose enough weight to bone whatever single/divorced African Alpha is available at my college homecoming. Whichever comes first I guess. 

Full disclosure: I had a piece of fried chicken for breakfast this morning because I didn't do my prepping yesterday. Rookie mistake. I'm really trying guys. 

Not Another Fatty Moment

When I was in middle school, I used to believe that I was psychic. I had a way of sensing what was going to happen and it would happen! This led to my little hobby of reading my friends' palms. Let me be clear: I couldn't read palms then and I can't read them now. But my friends would ask me a question, and I would look at their palms and just check my gut for the answer to their issue. And I'd be right. Today, I understand that I was wrong. If I was at all psychic I could avoid some of the traumatic things that happen to me. 

Last weekend, I went with my younger brother to get his eye exam and to order some new glasses. I hate it when something bad happens to me when I'm not even out doing things for myself! 

Once he ordered his glasses, I ordered us a rideshare ride to go home. I was beyond ready to go, partly because I had to pee and I don't pee in public potties because you know...Monkey Pox. 

So the ride comes and my brother and I get in. I close the door and look up at the driver who goes, "Oh no, I am sorry ma'am but I can not give you a ride. You are too big and I won't be able to move the car."

"What?" I asked, sure she hadn't just said what I thought. 

"See, I won't be able to move. See," she said, pointing her finger at some light on the dashboard. I don't know how to drive, so I don't know what the light was. But what I did sense was bullshit because half of my paycheck goes to riding rideshares across the city every month! 

"So you have to get out and cancel the ride," she said with such high anxiety in her voice that it was making my anxiety raise. "You have to cancel the ride," she said again and louder when I wasn't moving fast enough for her. 

And that's when I shut off, thank God! 

One of the best things that I have taught myself to do over my 37 years is turn myself off. When I feel like something is about to hurt, I just shut down. It's second nature now. I imagine myself flipping a light switch and just like that, I am off. I taught myself how to do this in high school. These boys in the back of the school bus used to make full-on rap songs about me and how gross they thought I was and it was so hurtful that I taught myself how to fall asleep almost instantaneously so I wouldn't have to hear it. By the time I woke up, I was home and well-rested. 

"I'm so sorry," she said. My eyes were crossing, trying to stay shut down and hear her as well. 

"What?" I asked, motioning to get out of the car. 

"I'm sorry. It's not right. You should be able to get a ride just like anybody else even though you big."

And then my mouth dropped. SHE STARTED CRYING! No blubbering or anything, just water in her eyes. 

I could not believe what I was experiencing! I would have thought it was a dream if my brother wasn't next to me, in shock! She said I was too fat to get a ride, but her feelings were hurt?! Guys, I moved so quickly to get out of her car that I almost fell over the sidewalk. I went to the rideshare app and canceled the ride. 

"I canceled it," I said into the car window once I had done so. 

"I am so sorry," she said again before pulling off. 

And there I stood in front of an America's Best in a grocery store strip mall. I opened my mouth to scream, but all I could muster was a sigh. I walked over to a bench and sat down, reflecting on how I hadn't seen this incident playing out the way it had when I looked deeply into my palms that morning. 

Homecoming Post 6: T is for Fataphobe

When you go to a small school like Xavier University, even when you don't know people you know people. It is like you are a part of an extended family. So I didn't really know Trent in school, but I knew him from a distance. He seemed like an okay guy. It was not until my interaction with him at homecoming that I realized that he is a fataphobe. 

I recall talking to Tortilla a few years back about fataphobes. I define them as people who hate or are disgusted by fat people. Oddly enough, I had not had a lot of experience with them. Sure, there had been people that didn't like me, but I always felt like that was because I was loud and had a really bad habit of saying wild, off the wall ish. Then my childhood friend Teensy got a boyfriend that was always weird around me. I didn't get the feeling that he didn't like me. It almost felt like he was afraid of me or something. 

"Yeah, he is a fataphobe," Teensy said regrettably at a dinner she was holding at her apartment. "I'm sorry he's being weird." I guess I should have been offended, but I was intrigued. I mean, he was VISABLY awkward around me. A couple of times during the dinner I thought that he was going to scream! At one point, I reached for a condiment bottle that was near his arm and he abruptly jumped to his feet and pretended to have to go to the bathroom. It was comedy! 

Fast forward to last weekend. I was at a homecoming event and saw Trent having a conversation with his ex-wife. 

Isn't that mature, I thought to myself, taking a seat next to them. There were about five feet between us. Now, he saw me walk over. He saw me sit down. Yet he did not speak. Now, if it's one thing I can not handle, it is rudeness. You speak when you see folks! That's just what you do! And I wasn't going to speak to him first, I'm the girl! 

What's this n*$ga's issue? I asked myself. But I stopped that line of negative mental questioning because my therapist warned me that thoughts like that are fruitless...before she dumped me. But she was right. Obviously, he didn't speak because he was in the middle of a conversation. DUH! Not a second after rationalizing this, he jumped to his feet and gave a bro hug and dap combo to this guy from our class. After some light chat with the guy, he sat down but turned himself in a manner that was strange and dare I say looked painful so that he didn't have to see me. My mouth dropped. What was that about?!

When he walked into the class tent at the tailgate the incident from the day before was still on my mind. Perhaps I would have thought I was trippin' if I had not watched him literally come in and speak to everyone else but me. Had I offended him at some point? I mean, when you often speak without thinking as I do, anything is possible. I just knew he was going to speak as he was about to leave the tent, but he actually sped up to try to get past me without my noticing. 

"Hey Trent!" I yelled so loudly that he had no choice but to stop. 

"Oh hey Holly!" he exclaimed as if he really hadn't seen me there. He was hella squirmy and antsy and off, and I had seen this same type of behavior before from Teensy's whack ex. It dawned on me: I was in the company of a real live fataphobe. 

Child, I wore Trent out with questions about his divorce and job and family and hobbies and anything else I could think of until he began to do this strange dance like he had to pee or something. He was beginning to sweat like Teensy's ex at the dinner party. I decided to let him go before he actually exploded, covering me in bloody, fataphobic bits. 

"It was good to see you Trent!" I said with a huge, fake smile. 

"You too!" he said, just as fake. 

A second later I turned around to see him collecting himself on the side of another tent, dry heaving. I smiled. It would have been funny if he would have hurled. Ass hole. 

Potty Panicked

(warning: this is a TMI post)
About a month ago, I had hands down the worst away from home bathroom experience of my life! It has taken me a minute to discuss it with you because I am still traumatized.
I had to pee really bad, and I had the choice of waiting on my aunt to come out of the grocery store and going at home or taking my chances and using a grocery store bathroom. Anyone who has had to go while shopping will tell you that using a grocery store bathroom is a tossup. But I didn't have a choice. I REALLY had to go.
I raced into the store and straight for the bathroom when my heart sank. My beloved handicapped stall was being occupied by a sister that was in the stall crying. Eyeroll. I had to think fast and on my feet. I could wait on her, but she was in mid-sob, and didn't sound like she would be coming out of there anytime soon. Or I could go to a basic bitch stall that has never, ever gone well for me. Seeing that I have not had A+ bladder control since I was 31, I chose a basic stall.
I ran to the stall at the back of the bathroom only for my heart to, again, sink. I was eye to eye with a dreaded low potty. This toilet looked like the toilets at the daycare that we used to train the 2-year-olds on! They are horribly uncomfortable for tall people, plus-size people, or anyone expecting a positive bathroom experience. But I had no choice! I had to go.
After relieving myself, I came back to reality quick. How the hell was I going to get off of the commode and out of the stall? I attempted to just move fast and get up, but I nearly torpedoed myself out of the stall head first.
I sat back, panicked. What was I going to do? I thought about calling my aunt, but she is notorious for not hearing it when she is out and about.  I even thought about calling to the crying lady in the handicapped stall for help, but how weird and awkward would that have been? For a split second, I thought about crawling out of the stall, but if my undies would have touched the bathroom floor, I would have had no choice but to set the whole bathroom on fire.
Fear gripped my body as I had a vision of me having to call the police to get me out of the stall. I sat there depressed. Was that what my life had come to? Me getting lifted off the john by first responders like some My 600-lb Life reject?
More motivated than I've ever been to do anything, I used my teaspoon of core strength to get up and elbow climb out of the stall.
"Hell ya!" I exclaimed as I got out of the stall with a sharp spasm in my side and tired arms. The lady in the handicapped stall was still crying, but not I! For the first time in a long time, I was faced with a hurdle and was able to get up.

Fat! Fat! Fat!

Today, I decided it was a good idea to ring up $140 worth of groceries at the self check out at the grocery store. I know, bad idea.
This woman came to the check out behind me with her two children. Her son was pretending to do karate and her daughter was in the grocery cart. I looked at her and smiled, loving her little Afro puff.
"Hello," I said to the little girl.
She replied by pointing at me and saying, "Fat, fat, fat!"
I look to the mother who was not paying attention. She was apparently searching for gold in her purse.
"That isn't a nice thing to say," I said to the little girl.
"I'm sorry," she said, then went on to say, "Fat! Fat! Fat! Big!"
I stared at this girl blankly. She had to have been about 5; too old to be in the buggy and too old to be calling me fat.
I got way too close to her and said with a smile, "That really isn't nice." I was trying to communicate with my eyes, What? Are you retarded you little dumb bitch?! I said you are being an asshole!
Getting uncomfortably close to the cart got her mom's attention.
"What's going on?" she asked.
The little boy stopped fighting with the air to inform the mother of the situation.
"Do you think that that's cute?" The mom asked the little girl.
"You are a pretty little girl," I said, walking away, flicking her off. "You really shouldn't say ugly things."
"Right!" said the mom, not looking at me to see my festive hand language.
Karate man saw it though. He thought it was funny.

Fat Burners

The other night I went to this really posh networking event in the city and it is just my luck that the few people that were friendly enough to network with me were in the fitness field.
The first chick, this really thin lady with big hair who was sucking down h'ors d'oeuvres like they were going out of style, gave me her card and wanted to know if I was interested in her working out with me. Now don't be mistaken- she is not a trainer. She is a lady who likes to work out. She considers herself a workout friend. So she goes, "Do you want to meet up and work out?" And I said, "Nope." Now yes, usually I am nicer to people who come up to me with this crap. But I feel like my stars and moons are realigning, because now they are just getting annoying. So she goes, "Why not?" And I go, "I don't want to." You should have seen her! She looked like she had been slapped!
Now, the next lady approached me with the same crap, but she was pushing fat burners. She has some type of fat burner company, and she saw me and just had to tell me about them. And, after seeing my face, she hurriedly told me she was afraid to approach me, but God led her to. Yes, she pulled the God card. The only reason why I didn't get angry is because she mentioned how she wanted to write a book and needed a ghostwriter, a gig I would be PERFECT for. She gave me two packs of fat burners. I tossed them, but I do hope she calls me about the book.

So here in Atlanta, a fellow fatty goes to get her toes done and when she goes to pay for her bill, she notices that she has bee charged $5 extra. She asks why, and they tell her it's because there is a fee for being fat. Apparently, overweight customers have been breaking their chairs and they are charging all the fatties $5 to go towards repairs. When the customer complained, they refunded her her $5, then told her not to come back. I don't know this lady, but I feel bad for her. I envision her having to debate the owner in front of other thin clients. This makes me sad, but it seems that being embarrassed is just another part of being Fat these days. Sigh.

Plane Pain

It is time for me to do the traveling for my job again, and it's back to the same ol' bullshit. The other day I worked the elliptical so hard to burn some fat before my flight that I felt like I was going to throw up! I don't think that I have gained weight. I can still fit all my old clothes, but that doesn't say anything. By the grace of God I am still able to SQUEEZE into this T-shirt I got in the 8th grade.
Oh, woe is me! I hate having to worry about this! I can't honestly say that I hate being fat. Probably because it's all I know and because I'm really cute. But I do hate some of the bull that comes with it, like not being able to buy cute, cheap bras from Wal-Mart and having to worry about being kicked off planes.
My friends have told me not to worry about it because I got on last year, no problems. But it's still a scary thought, and unfortunately, they simply are not in the position to even wrap their sweet heads around it.
So I solicit my readers to pray for me! Pay that come Thursday morn', I get on that plane no matter how bad it HURTS, no one gives me any shit, and I have a fun and safe trip. Thanks bunches, and I will let you know either way.

Fat Frustration

I have been working out for two months at about five times a week for three hours at a time and I doubt that I have lost one ounce!
The only thing that is more frustrating than having to work out in the first place is not seeing any results. I have a goal here people! By next summer I need to be sexy enough to seduce boys that have passed me over, and by this December I need to be small enough to wear a tummyless toga to my birthday party. The clock is ticking!
I guess what is even more annoying than my lack of progress is again, the random people at the gym that cheer me on with every step that I take on the treadmill. I have never been one for encouragement, especially from happy, skinny, pretty people that I don't know. I know that they mean well, but they just get under my skin.
"Hang in there," some old buff man told me while I was working out on some thigh thingy. "It takes a while."
He patted me on my back and I wanted to bite his fingers.
The whole thing just blows! I feel like I practically live at the gym, and I am still just as fat and out of shape as I was two months ago when I started. I'm annoyed enough without the cheering on from strangers and the people telling me I look like I'm losing when I am not just so I don't stop working out.
I don't know. Maybe the bitchy, pissed off mood is just part of one of the stages of losing weight, which is fine I guess. I just would like to know what stage it is when I will actually start losing weight.