Some Simple Truth . . . about childhood.

I hesitate to make any global statements here because everyone has a different type of childhood experience. However, I think most of us had at least some period of awkwardness or unhappy times. Whether you were the tuba-playing band geek, the girl who got the unlucky honor of getting boobs first, or maybe you were the jock struggling with a secret same-sex attraction. Either way, most of us have horror stories to share. Personally, my childhood was an unlucky combination. I got to play the role of the brainy, fat, girl, and I had the classic, parent vs. child confrontations.

• Some Simple Truth

I would erase third through ninth grades from my memory, if possible. I know I'm supposed to say "But really I wouldn't change a thing because I wouldn't be the person I am today!" Here's some simple truth . . . if anyone ever says that to you, look at them in the eye and then proceed to tell them they're full of crap. Why? Because we have no idea who we would be if we could change certain things about our past. I don't mean go back in time and rewrite it all, maybe more like key parts. For all we know, changing those key things might actually have made us better people in the end. In my case, there are key moments that I remember as particularly painful and I would DEFINITELY adapt those. Not erase, just adapt. For example, one day both my elementary and high school came together to hand out some end-of-the-year academic awards. Being the nerd that I was, of course I had won something and headed towards the stage when my name was called. As I was climbing the stairs to the stage, I tripped, fell head over feet down the stairs, and landed in a sort of . . . advanced gymnastics position. So how would I adapt this and still get the learning experience of being publicly humiliated in a large way as a child? I'd have worn pants that day, instead of a dress. Now take a moment to let that image sink in. Not only did I look like enough of a spaz by falling down the stairs, my 'hoo' was also on display for the entire school. Yeah. See what I mean? Would I really be a worse human-being now if I'd have just worn some damn pants?!

• Some Simple Truth

Fathers really don't 'get' their daughters when they're young; especially when their young daughters are fat and they weigh 160 lbs., soaking wet, as a 35-year-old man. I could have squashed my Dad by the sixth grade. I was sick to death of hearing, "Do you really think you need to eat that hot pocket?" Yes Dad, I really do. Now I wish I would have just thought to sit on top of him, that would've stopped him from yakking. But in reality, now that I'm older, I understand it was his (bad) way of worrying about my health and trying to express concern. Too bad for him it only made my desire to over-eat even stronger. See that's what men don't get, the whole emotions roller coaster we women face. Me being depressed with school wasn't helped by coming home to a nagging, but well meaning, father who just further enforced my inadequacies as a little girl. My mother wasn't such a help either though. She wouldn't make me feel bad about my weight, she just wouldn't stick up for me when it came to his comments. So for years and years we fought and fought. Him never really understanding me or my feelings, and me never really understanding that he loved me, but that he was such a product of his upbringing - but that's a story for another time. Meanwhile, I ate and ate and ate to try and feel better, I closed myself off to others so I wouldn't risk getting hurt, I excluded myself from after-school activities because I just didn't feel that I belonged. I entered my freshman year obese, alone, depressed, and ready to check out. But that story will have to wait.

Everyones childhood experience is different. I have met people over the years who were abandoned, abused, and neglected for their entire childhood, that's when I began to realize I was actually lucky in my childhood experiences. But everyone carries some scars from those years, even if they're minor ones.

One of my long-term Quest goals is to have children, with or without a man. I only hope, as I'm sure most parents do (and should), that I will be able to make my children's years better than mine. I'm just afraid that, in the end, we really do turn into our parents.

Some Simple Truth . . . about Atkins.

Before having the Lap-Band surgery, patients (at least at my Dr.'s office) are required to be on a restricted carb diet in the weeks right before the surgery. My doc explained that the Atkins diet shrinks ones liver, thus making it easier for her to then shove my poor, shrunken, sickly, liver out of her way during surgery. By all means doc, let me suffer in the weeks preceding my surgery & recovery, so it's easier for you to make that $15,000. *Sigh* Don't get me wrong, I get it okay, and I know I should just shut up about it, but some simple truth about a low-carb diet is . . . are you ready? IT SUCKS . . . HARD. Especially for an obese person.

• Some Simple Truth

I used to smoke cigs, a lot. I started right out of high school, went all through college, and only quit last year. Some simple truth? Smoking was awesome. Sorry, I know it's very un-PC to state such a thing, but it was AWESOME. It made a young girl feel sophisticated and older, it made a college girl have an instant circle of smoke-loving friends, it made a career girl able to take lots of breaks. But then the day came that the coughing was worse and I was strangely beginning to lose my voice. I knew then that my days classified in society as a "smoker" were numbered. So, I quit. I was cranky, irritable, had massive headaches, and was constantly 'jonesing' for one, glorious drag. Why am I sharing this tidbit? Because, by DAY 2 of the Atkins torture, I was cranky, irritable, had massive headaches, and was constantly 'jonesing' for one, glorious cupcake. I realized something I had long suspected, but had never really understood. I am addicted to sugar. "Hi, my name is ____ and I'm addicted to baked goods of any kind."

• Some Simple Truth

Eating meat with every meal for weeks on end is practically vomit-inducing. Don't misunderstand, I enjoy meat of every kind. Give me some Filet Mignon, smothered pork chops, juicy kabobs, chicken stuffed with anything . . . or my personal favorite, duck . . . and you've found a way to this fat girls heart. This is not like that. I'm a fairly gifted cook, but I am not the chef at a five-star establishment. My meat dishes are something more likely to be served in a bad cafeteria line. So choking down my sad, little, dishes and the greasy, store-bought, packaged meat, is just not doing it for me. It honestly makes me feel sick after every single meal. Top that with next-to-no available side dishes, and you've got a dangerously unhappy fat girl. (Note: I am known in certain circles for saying that you had best not come between me and my food . . . or I will cut you. Just a friendly warning, eh?) So needless to say, now I'm actually less afraid of the surgery than I am about making it through the days of slow, charbroiled, grilled, mildly-seasoned, torture.

• Some Simple Truth

There is something more important to me than the inconvenience of eating meat non-stop for a few weeks, and that is my Quest. See, some simple truth is that my obese condition makes me afraid to do a lot of things, things I believe I would have the courage to tackle if I wasn't so preoccupied with my outwardly image. Therefore, this surgery has become the first step on my Quest. It will help in my weight-loss pursuit, but the rest will be up to me. Which means I will have to stay off of the sugar bandwagon, just like I have with my cigs, and I will have to find a way to incorporate more protein-packed meat into my daily meals . . . or I will fail in my Quest. So it may SUCK . . . HARD, but I'm ready to live my life again and quit wishing it would start.

Some Simple Truth . . . living as an obese girl.

• Some Simple Truth

How long have I been overweight? It's hard to pinpoint exactly, because as a young child you don't really consider yourself in terms of pounds. I do recall being made fun of because of my size in about the third grade and by the fourth grade I was keenly aware I was different . . . and not in a fun, artsy, 'Punky Brewster' type way. I could tell you about the teasing and name-calling, but children are brutally honest and I think everyone accepts that fact.

But some simple truth is, that as we become adults, we don't want brutal honesty anymore. It hurts, so we'd rather the truth be subtly amended or just be downright lied to, before having another adult heap on anymore pain to our tired souls. It's an unspoken agreement between girlfriends, and I imagine men are mostly the same. "No, you don't look like a cow in that bathing suit; horizontal stripes are slimming!" "No, I don't think his weekly camping trips with the guys is a ruse to sleep with his Assistant." Or maybe we just take the more subtle approach, "Of course I think your son is adorable; he's just a little hyper, but it's cute when they're that young." (Note: That kid makes me want to tie my tubes every damn day) No matter the reasons, honesty can really hurt and we all know it.

So when my fellow fourth-graders began to call me ugly names and humiliate me on a daily basis, I felt like a freak who didn't know there was anything wrong with them 2 seconds ago. I had grown up with these children since I was three-years-old. We had played together, taken naps together, I'd even had my first kiss in the second grade with one of my current tormentors. (Yes, the second grade. He and I even had another schoolmate 'marry' us.) But now, I was that classic, after-school-special, outcast. I started throwing up my lunch on a weekly basis. It seemed like a pretty good solution at the time, and no, I had never even heard of bulimia or anorexia. It seemed like a good solution because I couldn't stand the idea of getting fatter and because it meant I got to go home each afternoon because I was 'sick.' It was the start of my emotions ruling my decisions making.

• Some Simple Truth

Emotions rule everything for women. I don't' think this is some great epiphany for most people, and I know some women would disagree, especially some of my female colleagues. However, it is the truth. Is it the same for men? I wonder. But men, LISTEN UP, emotions may rule our most basic decision-making skills, but it sucks and we know it. We don't like feeling weepy because of a Hallmark commercial or eating non-stop because we're pissed at our boss, but we do and it's better to acknowledge it and embrace it than it is to battle it. Why? Because at the end of any given day, our emotions enable us to put up with your crap and still love you. That being said, my emotional-eating started at full throttle in the fourth grade, and my combination of emotions continued over the many years and led me to here: Nearing 30, no serious relationships (of any kind), no clear career path, and OBESE.

When I go out to restaurants with people, no matter my current personal opinion of my weight and looks, one thing remains the same. I scan. I scan the entire restaurant when we first enter, and I really scan as we are led to a table. It's become second nature and I don't even think about it anymore. So what am I scanning for? An exit. And not because I plan on making some sort of 'James Bond' escape. I'm scanning to determine the best route for me to take in between other tables and patrons. Why? Because in these situations, it's important for me to blend in as much as possible. Which means it's important to me that I don't have to move empty chairs to get by and that I don't have to ask others to 'scoot in' their chairs for me to get through, as if that even helps. I still end up giving someone more flesh than they could ever want and I know comments are made. That is what I seek to avoid. It's bad enough to catch people staring and sneering when you've tried not draw any attention to yourself, it's monumentally worse when you have to ask them to adapt for your needs. That's why I only fly First Class, and am thankful I can afford to do so; I cannot stand even the idea of being one of those people asked to buy a second seat in Coach, or have a row-mate be cruel. I'm not even one of the severely obese folks who 'spill over' into the other seat or need the armrests to be in the 'upward position.' But I don't want to even take a chance that you will have to adapt for me or be uncomfortable on my account, I want to be 'normal', just like you.

I can only shop at Lane Bryant, and sometimes it's hard to find decent, fashionable, clothes there. So I make up with accessories. I have a Chanel, Louis Vuitton, and Gucci collection most middle-class women would kill for, I have a closet devoted entirely to shoes, and my jewelry is really top-notch. But at the end of the day, I would trade my Chanel bags, Louboutins, and diamonds for the ability to buy a sexy dress at Bebe or own a Chanel tweed jacket. I'm sure not every woman feels the same, but it's easy to walk into any department store or boutique and buy a new bag, some new shoes, or a great piece of jewelry; I can only go to one, singular, place for clothes. Don't get me wrong, I know this is such a trite issue in comparison to any other number of issues, and I am thankful to be able to afford LB clothes when other heavy women are stuck with Walmart, but it hurts to go shopping with girlfriends and know that there won't be a single store you can shop in the entire afternoon. I LOVE to shop, but not with friends, it hurts me too much and it's not fair to spoil their fun.

• Some Simple Truth

I've allowed my obesity to trap me. I go out at night less than ever before, I'm afraid to try and meet people, I'm afraid to go visit new places, I'm afraid of taking a leap with something and getting stuck in an embarrassing situation. I have about a thousand interests and passions, and I'm doing NONE of them. None. I stay anonymous in my apartment and try not to think about what I've become. I used to be fearless, I used to be bold, people called me 'strong.' They just didn't know . . . I was always wondering if they secretly made fun of me like those fourth-graders and just spared me the honesty.

Some Simple Truth . . . about me.

Why call it 'Some Simple Truth'? Well, I suppose because that will be my intention. I won't tell you who I am, or hurt others by using real names, but I will tell you just about everything else. The good, bad, and ugly. Through this I hope to learn about myself and I hope to chronicle the massive changes I am planning on making in my life. I'm tired of waiting for my life to start, and I'm tired of feeling like it may never happen. Though, I'm not sure I have what it takes to complete such a Quest. Change scares me, that's a simple truth.
I also hope that this will become interactive. I hope people will leave comments for me to discuss, but mostly I hope for questions. Ask me anything, ask me the questions you're afraid to ask the women in your life. I'll answer honestly, even if you don't like the answer.

• Some Simple Truth

I'm a single female living in a large, urban, city. I'm in my late 20's and dreading the big 3-0. I know that sounds silly and I know to call 30 'old' is a sign of my naivete, but I am dreading it., but not for the reasons you might think. I don't fear 30 because I feel that 30 is old, I feel that it's a milestone in people's minds, a milestone that I have nothing to show for. I feel like my years have been one gaping hole after another, not necessarily unhappy, just uneventful.
I finished high school, check. I graduated from college, check. I made friends, check. I had boyfriends, check. I joined clubs, check. I got a job, check. I got a dog, check.
So why do I still feel so empty? Is it an inability in me to be satisfied? Is it because I had a plan, but now I don't? Or is it because I let relationships crumble, let friends slip away, got hurt by some of those people and put up walls I can't seem to tear down? Maybe because I don't even use the degree I earned in college and I feel like I'm drifting through my career path?
I honestly don't know, but I do know that I don't want to turn 30 and still feel this way.

• Some Simple Truth

I'm fat. Not the kind of fat you can lose with a week or two at the gym, and not the kind of fat your girlfriend complains about as you roll your eyes thinking, "What fat? Is she insane or just fishing for a compliment?" Really fat. I don't even know why I use that word, 'fat'. It seems so cruel and demeaning, and I'd be mortified if someone said it to my face, but it is the truth. But let me stop you before you start posting diet ideas for me, I've tried them all, honestly I have. I have tried them all, and honestly, they all worked. Yeah, I said it. They worked. Every single one. I never tried a diet and I mean a real diet, not some 'grapefruit, maple syrup, soybean, standing on your head 30 minutes-a-day while singing the theme song to Charles in Charge, diet' I mean the real ones, the big time ones with TV ads, movie star spokespeople, and everything. They worked. So what went wrong? Well, I could list a thousand excuses and reasons for each, but it really doesn't matter. They wouldn't work for me in the long-run, so here I am, still fat. This is really where this story begins . . . I think. Because the simple truth is that being fat has left me afraid to do just about everything without wondering and worrying how others are perceiving me. Not to say that I've been living like the Unabomber my entire existence, but it's always there, always nagging at me, always reminding me that people see my fat first, and me second. Or so I believe. So tackling this will be my first Quest. In a few weeks, I will be getting the Lap-Band. Call it cheating, call it a permanent solution, call it dangerous, call it the road to recovery, I'm getting it, period. And while a part of me is thrilled with the idea of this new beginning, the other part of me is terrified. Maybe that's my next simple truth to consider . . . Do I live in a different version of fear everyday?