Today is our six year wedding anniversary. Last year we went all out. Big fancy restaurant, brand new wedding ring, lots of presents, lots of surprises. We had hit the five year mark. But celebrating year six has been calm. Watching old episodes of Lost, reminiscing over Top Ramen, and sleeping in. And so far, it's still so good.
There's very little I can do to top my present to Matt last year, which was a post I wrote on my blog.
Dear Matt,
I love you.
Still.
Thank you for your warm snuggles.
Thank you for adoring me always. Even when I'm sick, when I wear sweat pants, when I think I look horrible, when I'm angry, when I'm hormonal, when I'm rude and obnoxious, and when I'm not loving you enough.
Thank you for doing everything you can to be my protector, my priesthood, my ever loving eternal companion.
Thank you for looking out for me. For catching me when I fall (literally), for hugging me when I'm stressed, for kissing my aches and pains, and for watching me when I need an extra set of eyes, and offering help when I need an extra set of hands.
Thank you for your sweet kisses.
Thank you for the tingles you put through my spine.
I love you for being good with children, and for being the future father of my own children.
I love you for appreciating everything I do, even all of my imperfections and my mediocrity.
I love you for eating anything I make for you, and for loving it!
Thank you for that first dance at our wedding. Thank you for the countless dances you took me to in High School, at Church, and for the dances we've shared under the stars and in the kitchen.
Thank you for making me laugh, every single day. You are the joy in my life.
Thank you for making me smile. With your jokes, your gentle touch, your sweet words, your romantic gestures, your endless effort, and your own smile.
Thank you for sticking by my side through the rough weather. Thank you for supporting me during all my strange ideas, during my constant changing plans, through my emotional outbursts and my overwhelming days.
Thank you for never letting go of my hand.
And the kisses . . . .
Oh the kisses!
Thank you for sharing eternity with me.
For being my other mortal half, my other celestial half.
So Matt and I have been watching Lost recently. I'm not sure why. I hate this show. It's so frustrating. We started watching back when it was still in it's first season and we liked it. And then season two came around and we were like, "WTF?!" and I've read spoilers, and I'm even more "WTF?!" now.
I digress.
So for those who remember (or don't care) there were frickin' polar bears on the island in the first season. They actually shot one of the damn things when it tried to kill them. And then like five minutes later they're all, "We're so hungry! We're going to starve!" Umm . . . there's a dead 800 pound frickin' polar bear like 10 feet away. So I turned to Matt and said:
Me: Are bears like one of those animals that's not safe to eat or something?
Matt: You can eat bear. I've eaten bear before.
Me: You have not!
Matt: Yes I have!
Me: You're so full of crap.
Matt: I'm serious. When I was a kid one of my uncles, or a friend of the family sent us a bunch of meat and some of it was bear.
Me: Wait, you don't even know who supposedly sent you bear?
Matt: I can't remember, I was like six.
Me: You ate meat from someone you don't even know? And supposedly it was bear?!
Matt: It WAS bear.
Me: Did they leave the head on it?
Matt: No. But it was bear. My parents told me it was bear.
Me: Oh well, that makes perfect sense then.
Matt: Shut up.
Me: What does bear taste like?
Matt: Venison.
Me: You don't even remember. You've never eaten bear.
Matt: I have too!
Me: Excuse me waiter? Yes, thank you, I ordered my bear medium rare, and they've obviously overcooked the meat. And when you bring it back, could you ask the chef if this was salmon fed? Cause I only eat salmon fed bears.
For the record, I totally tried drawing this for you, but I couldn't stop laughing long enough to do it justice.
Hey Feed Reader people, hop over to the actual blog for a second - - Okay so I've installed a Chat feature on the sidebar of the blog. I wanted to do this for one of two reasons:
1. To encourage my readers to talk to me on a more personal level. Sometimes commenting can be a little tedious, especially if you just want to say, "Hey what's up!?"
2. Also because sometimes my anxiety triggers things that I feel I need to express but don't want to dedicate a full post to (because they can be real downers) and frankly, I don't think posting them all over Twitter will be very helpful. So here, in this little chatbox, my thoughts can be a little more secluded and read by my loyal readers, fans, friends and stalkers.
I love you all so much! You can't imagine how your words are constantly encouraging me throughout the days.
Not depressed really, and no panic attacks so far, but my brain just won't shut off - which is what usually leads to my panic attacks. One thing leads to another and sooner or later my brain is telling me that a bear is gonna break through my front window and eat my cat (slight exaggerated modification.)
I'm so tired. Like unbelievably so. I'd been tired the last 6 months or so, and I chalked that up to working at 5am with only 4-5 hours of sleep at a time. And before that my exhaustion was believed to be because of stress. And before that because of something else.
But I'm still tired.
And the last few days I've been able to concentrate on my body. My bare feet are showing me new signs. My body is trying to tell me something. It's saying that something is wrong. But until we figure out our insurance and get to a doctor to get evaluated, blood tests and such, I'm stuck where I am wondering. I'm pretty sure it's diabetes, and despite the fact that it's treatable and in a lot of cases reversible, it's still the unknown. It runs in the family and I know where the extreme of it can lead to. My Grandmother has it. She is missing at least 40% of her feet and legs.
This should make me go, "Wow, I should get up off my ass and exercise!" But then there's my brain. My brain that says, "Remember the last time you tried to exercise and you jacked up your knee? Hey remember that show you were watching where that lady got all into exercise and didn't even realise that she had fractured her hip?"
Plus any time you watch those exercise or weight loss shows at the end they always say things like, "Consult your doctor before taking up any weight loss or exercise regime." So now what?! I just have to sit and wait. It's frustrating! Being tired and unmotivated at the same time. I hate being frustrated. I want to just be happy and funny and make people laugh.
Okay seriously, I am having issues posting this. It looks like I'm faking it. I'm not faking this. This is so horrifying. To all my Southern readers . . . please accept my apology for butchering the hell out of your sweet and beautiful accents. I do not mean to!
So I know I didn't post anything today (pretend this was actually published on Monday) but I was busy spending time with my husband, thinking up ways to count down to our 6 year anniversary this year. So sorry, no funny comic or depressive rantings from me.
Instead . . . I thought I show you how April sexually harassed me today:
Okay so I actually drew todays comic like a month ago, but forgot about it because my friend Tiffany was out of town at the time, but since we're going to her house for dinner tonight, it reminded me that I drew this comic especially for her.
Since I've never been pregnant, I've come up with my own ideas as to how it feels to be pregnant. So when people say cute things like, "Oh the baby's moving!" My response is usually:
"It's probably a tapeworm."
Or when, for instance, Tiffany jokingly says, "I think the baby is biting me." I generally say things like:
Okay so this post is neither interesting, funny or inspirational. It's informative for people who for some reason, actually care.
I got an email from a reader this morning asking me about my recently pregnant sister. She was confused, and I'll explain why.
I am 25 years old. My little sister is also 25 years old. Her father is my uncle by marriage. Her step-mother is my aunt by blood. My older sister is 35 years old. Her mother is my aunt by blood. I have two little brothers who are 15, and 17 years younger than me. My mother died when I was 2.
Anyone else want to do the math here?
Yeah, me either.
So I made a helpful chart. Here's my family tree (both sides!)
It's not very helpful. (But it took like 40 minutes to do, so it's impressive still.)
Here is an easier chart showing my siblings.
Yellow is me! Aren't I cute! AND THIN!
The red is my little brothers Johnny and Nico. They are my half brothers.
Purple is my older sister, Tiffany (and green are her daughters, my nieces). She is my first cousin.
Pink is my little sister, Kristine (and green is her pregnant belly). She is my step-cousin.
So basically when your Mom dies and your raised by your Grandmother (and 3 aunts) over the course of 18 years, you're gonna blur some traditional family lines. Hence: Forced Siblings.
I'm giving y'all a warning upfront: This post is in no way meant to offend or hurt anyone in particular. But as a part of being my bare foot self, I'm trying to post when things are fresh, raw and sometimes . . . painful. Which means now, in the middle of my meltdown.
Today I found out that someone close to me is pregnant. Someone I never thought would be pregnant before me. It caused a lot of feelings to go through me. Mostly because after 6 years of marriage - 6 years of trying, we are still one person shy of a family.
This does not mean I am not happy for those around me that do get pregnant. I am. Believe me I am! I want to stress that as much as possible because another friend said she would feel bad if she got pregnant and I did not. I want the world to experience what I - so far - cannot.
But it still hurts.
It hurts when in the 6 years I've been trying . . .
16 new babies have been born into my family. 2 sets of twins. 2 of the parents are younger than me. For them I celebrate.
3 friends have accidentally gotten pregnant, and given their babies up for adoption. For them I am proud.
4 friends have accidentally gotten pregnant, and had abortions. 2 of which did not have a choice. All of which remain emotionally changed forever - and not for the better. For them I mourn, I grieve, I support through their healing, and I weep for their broken hearts.
2 of my best friends knows how I feel. For them I cry alongside, and I pray.
3 of my best friends have gotten pregnant 3 times while trying - - - for them my heart leaps for joy.
For my baby sister, who found out today that in 8 months she's going to be a Mom . . . I am happy for you.
So please . . . do not take my tears personally.
Before anyone comments, remember my rule about pity words.
And because this post was WAY WAY serious, here's a post I previously wrote on a similar subject that's a little more upbeat.
Do stalkers give you their location? That's not very stalker-ish. Isn't the point of stalking to be all secret like about it? Or is that just peeping toms and ninjas? Here was my reply:
Dear Potential Stalker,
Would you say you're my stalker? Cause that would be awesome. I'd love to have my own blog stalker. You should check out my other blogs too. Then you'll be a much more efficient.
- Untypically Jia
They were way ahead of me.
Dear Untypically Jia,
Oh I am totally your stalker. I've been your stalker for like, months. There was this one time when all I did for 3 days was sit and read your back entries on your blog. I've built a shrine of Jia in my closet out of bubblegum. Your blog entries are pasted all over the walls and I got one of your friends to send me some of your hair which I keep in a vacuum sealed bag on a red velvet pillow with its own special light shining down on it.
Matt and I watched "The Invention of Lying" last night.
It's a lie. It says that it's a comedy, but really it'll have you in tears within like 20 minutes. But it does say 'masturbation' like eight times within the first ten minutes, so frankly I'd recommend it to anyone. I'll probably even buy it later.
But seriously, a Ricky Gervais movie is not supposed to make you think, or feel emotions other than hilarity (yes, hilarity is an emotion now). You're supposed to laugh and go, "Wow, he makes me so uncomfortable." Not, "Oh my gosh, he should totally win an Oscar for this!"
Watching the "Invention of Lying" because you enjoy 'having a laugh', is like watching "Marley & Me" because you once also had a happy puppy. No matter your intentions for watching the movie, you're gonna get punched in the crotch somewhere in the film.
But I made another observation whilst 'having a laugh' last night.
Ricky Gervais is kind of a genius. He wrote a movie where he plays opposite a gorgeous woman. I bet in the script it even said something like, "Jennifer Garner type actress". And if it didn't, it certainly didn't say "Average Looking Woman". No. The whole point of her character is that she's supposed to be gorgeous. And how convenient for him!
Me: I'm gonna write a movie where I star as the heroine and my love interest will be described as very nearly, in fact exactly identical to John Cena. It'll totally be needed for the character too. Like being John Cena will come up later in the film. It's necessary.
Oh John . . . . but I can.
I digress.
So anyways, the movie was really good to be fair. I'd watch it over and over again. And then once more with my mother in law, cause they drop the F-Bomb in there like twice and I get a chuckle out of her horrified reaction.
There's a bit about religion that had me rolling my eyes a lot, and now I'm pretty sure Ricky Gervais is an atheist in real life and he was using this movie to get a point across, but whatever. Besides the point.
It made me think, "I wonder what it would be like to be unable to lie for one whole day." And not just lie. The people in this movie are incapable of keeping the truth to themselves! They say horrible things to one another! What would that be like?
Matt: I couldn't do it. I'd be walking up to complete strangers and saying, "I don't even know you but I hate your stupid face."
For reals.
So in order to comment on todays post, you must tell one truth.
Here's mine:
I didn't want to watch this movie to begin with. Biggest Loser was supposed to be on last night and when it was postponed because of the Olympics I yelled, "Effing Canadians!" at the television.
So one of the purposes I wanted to have for this blog (at least as of this past year) was to be more open and honest. I want the raw me to be exposed. I want that because I think I need it. I spend a lot of time putting on different shoes in different situations. I have my Church shoes (otherwise known as my Good Mormon Girl shoes), I have my In-laws shoes (don't drop the F bomb shoes), my family shoes (you need to be happy shoes), my work shoes (don't show them you hate it here shoes), my friend shoes (you can;t be weak shoes), and on occasion with very few people . . . I can run around in my bare feet.
My bare feet are often dirty, sometimes beautiful - though flawed. I hate my toenails. My pinky toe is a little crooked. My big toe is too big for it's own good. I used to get ingrown toenails. Once I had to have them ripped off. It hurts like a bitch. My bare feet are sore from being pushed into so many different shoes. They are exhausted from standing on day holding up a lot of weight. They blister. They break. And sometimes they bleed.
But I feel like I need to be bare foot sometimes. Especially on my blog. Cause, no offense, but it's my blog. Not your blog. I enjoy entertaining others with my comics and stories of hilarious moments - and I do have them often. But I often hold back the moments that aren't funny. The dark, the sad, the little bits of crazy. I photoshop it for you. But I need to stop doing things for you.
How will that help me?
Cinderella was a young girl She did her best to please the people who would never let her dreams come true She wore the rags that they passed down Until the day she found a perfect pair of shoes She could tell by the size they were only meant for her And when she put them on, from that moment she was sure when she said
"I've been waking too long in somebody else's shoes I've been tripping on the laces, running into empty spaces And I've been hanging around with people who make me blue But I'm not walking anymore in those shoes"
And also, how will it help anyone else out there who might happen across my blog who is in need of knowing that someone else out there is feeling what they might be feeling?
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is not a joke. I may at times make fun of it. But that's because sometimes it can be a little funny. But not in the middle of an OCD induced panic attack - which as of lately are increasing dramatically.
I've written about this before, here you can catch up:
It's hard talking about anxiety, OCD, depression and panic attacks with people who don't know exactly what is going on. Most everyone out there wants to help, but they just suck at it. In the last six months as my issues have worsened, I've heard things like:
"You need to just pray. Jesus will take it away for you."
"You need medication. Medication will make it all better."
"Don't take medication. It doesn't help. You need a therapist."
"You should just suck it up. Don't you realise how lucky you have it?"
My friend Kristina recently blogged about how other people don't really get it. Kristina totally gets it. I have friends who get it. But I also have friends who really, really, really don't.
My husband gets it about half the time. But he doesn't want me to be sad or anxious ever, so he wants to fix it. Anytime he asks me what's wrong, I don't have an answer. It's because the answer might scare him. See, I would never kill myself. It's actually one of my biggest fears associated with my OCD. My OCD makes me constantly think, "What if?" What if I killed myself and Matt got depressed and killed himself too? What if I hurt everyone around me? What if it hurts? What if there's no life after this? What if I don't have enough faith? What if there is no God?
Despite my beliefs - which are solid - these thoughts creep in. They are on occasion beneficial. See, I will never kill myself because of these thoughts (and you know - - the fact that I don't want to die). But when you have OCD, you sometimes think things that you don't want to think. And you can't just make it go away. No matter how hard you try.
So when I get anxious - sometimes my mind says, "This is what it would look like if you ran into traffic right now." "This is what it would look like if you jumped over that balcony." "This is what it would look like if you never opened your eyes again."
And those thoughts are scary to me. But they would be even scarier to someone who doesn't understand that I don't want to die and I would never hurt myself.
So when he asks me, I say, "I'm broken."
Cause that's how it feels. I'm broken. I'm not normal. My brain isn't working properly. It's wrong. I'm broken. This word really aggravates him. I need a new word that's more chipper but still gets the point across.
Back here in real life,
I read that story and I wonder if I'm just the same as she
I'm wrapped in worldly visions, and my split decisions take me places
That I never meant to be
And now the great and spacious building has me scrubbing down the floors
And I've got to find a way to tell them
I can't work there anymore cause
I've been walking too long in somebody else's shoes
I've been tripping on the laces, running into empty spaces
And I've been hanging around in places that hide the truth
But I'm not walking anymore
In those shoes
I don't always have dark thoughts about suicide. Sometimes they are of being attacked and hurt by someone else. Sometimes they are about my loved ones being hurt or killed. Sometimes it's of catching the flu, not paying a bill, or forgetting to clean the litter box. But they dominoes. Pieces fall away knocking over other pieces til eventually I'm where I am today.
I'm sick. Home. Not at work.
I can't be at work today. I do have a head cold, but it's not why I called in sick.
Yesterday at work, a crazy man walked through the door. He had no weapon that I could see. But that doesn't matter. He came in talking to himself. At first I thought he had one of those blue tooth things on, but then quickly realised that he was just crazy.
"That mother effer thinks he can say that to me and just get away with it? I could kill him and all of them. He wants to attack me? I'm not afraid. Not afraid of anyone. I'll cut them up."
He looked normal. His words were certainly not. He came to the counter and I instinctively reached for the alarm button. But I waited because I didn't know what would happen if I pushed it. My mind raced. I looked for weapons, wondering what could this man actually do. Was he just a crazy guy who had a really bad day so he was venting to himself? Or was he a crazy guy who had a bad day and was going to take it out on me by jumping the counter and attacking me?
He walked around my empty store and I looked for approaching customers, hoping I would get a flood of people to distract me enough. Or possibly convince him that he should leave.
No one came.
He approached the counter and threw a People magazine across, nearly hitting me with it. "I'll kill all those gang banger Mexicans. They think they can call me a skinny faggot? Watch what happens." I start thinking about my co-workers. All Mexicans. Some look like former gang bangers. Did they say something? Did they verbally attack this man? Was it them? Is he here to find them? They aren't here. I'm here alone. Will it matter that I'm not a gang banger? Will it matter that I'm not Mexican? Will I be a message? Or just a girl caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time?
"I don't have money. I need coffee." He said, pushing another magazine across the counter, as though it were the equivalent of payment.
"Go ahead. Get some coffee if you'd like." I said, hoping that would help. It wouldn't be the first cup I'd given away for free. Once another homeless man came in during a blizzard. The buses were down and all he wanted was something to warm him up as he walked to a shelter. I was happy to give it away. I was happy to give this guy a cup o' joe if it would help give him what he needed.
The man took his coffee, still mumbling as he picked up his things and left the store.
He had a bad day.
I knew that now.
But it didn't convince my mind.
What if he comes back? What if this guy coming in has a gun? What if that lady in the SUV runs her car into the store? What if that man is a rapist? What if those guys try to rob me? That guy is a regular, he's always very nice . . . why is he always so nice?
My panic attack had begun and was not stopping.
There's another part of OCD that is really embarrassing. It's the repeating of words. It's a symptom of OCD and has also been linked to other disorders like Tourettes. When I'm anxious enough. This happens. It happened yesterday.
Customer: Can I get 20 on 2? (Twenty dollars of gas on pump 2) Me: 20 on 2. Customer: Thank you *and leaves the store* Me: 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2. 20 on 2.
Other customers were coming in.
I couldn't stop.
Howard Hughes had OCD. If you've seen Aviator you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, here's a series of clips showing Howard Hughes OCD. The repeating of words starts around 7:25.
When this happens it's scary.
It took me ten minutes to recover. In between I had other customers. Some did not want 20 on pump 2. I had to physically hold my mouth shut, pretend like I was eating something and was being polite in not talking with food in my mouth, and simply not my head at their requests.
Give me shoes that are comfortable on the straight and narrow way
With a soul that God can see straight through
Because my toes are curling under in the ones that I've been wearing
I need a pair that makes me feel brand new
I have the next few days off.
I don't know what will happen Friday, when I am supposed to return to work.
I will read. Relax. Find happiness in my actions. Do things I enjoy.
I will pray.
And I won't wear shoes.
I've been walking too long in somebody else's shoes
I've been tripping on the laces, running into empty spaces
And I've been hanging around in places that hide the truth
Note: I do not want pity or any "Oh I'm so sorry Jia" 's. So if any comments come across like that, I'll turn them off.
Update: As I was putting the link to this post on Facebook, this security prompt came up! I'm considering it a Face(book) to Face attack via Satan! Or Payless.
Update x 2: In my efforts to be my bare and raw self I decided not to photoshop my pictures without realising that my feet are apparently also retaining water. Grrrr.
Update x 3: I've started a terrible trend. You people in the comments are becoming too serious for your own good. I promise, my next post will have a fart joke in it.
Update x 4: In all honesty, I really don't like shoes (don't judge me April). Seriously. I tried to find a clip from The Bird Cage where Hank Azaria says, "I never wear shoes, because they make me fall down." That is totally me. I like flip flops but apparently those aren't work appropriate. Matt actually has forbidden me from wearing any shoe with a heel because one year I sprained the same ankle 3 times in like 6 months.
I hate being sick. I'm a big whiner too when I get sick. Mostly because being sick just plain sucks. That and whenever I get sick it's never some little 24 hour virus or week long cold. It's like full blown polio or the black plague and it doesn't go away for like 3 months.
I'm not looking forward to the next three months.
On the plus side medicine seems to lower my inhibitions and deletes that filter in my head that says, "Well yeah this sounds fun in your head, but it wouldn't make sense to anyone if you actually did it / said it out loud."
Some names and events have been changed to protect the identity of certain individuals.
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Chapter Four First Sight
After a few more weeks of listening to Megaera go on and on about Matt, I was ready to vomit. She had officially ruined my determined single life and I was now cruising the market for my own boyfriend that would smash hers out of the water. What was even more aggravating was that she didn't even have a boyfriend. Matt apparently always had a girl on his arm, usually a little blonde, and Megaera didn't have the nerve to approach him. That didn't stop her from talking about him though. I didn't have any classes with this mystery boy of hers, so I had to hear everything about him like he was some sordid romance novel hero being described to me in overly exaggerated adjectives. For several moments during one of her tirades I considered life long celibacy and began wondering if you needed to be Catholic to become a nun. I was officially done with boys.
Then came the last day of school before our winter break. I was dying to get out of there, planning on a short trip up to Utah to visit my family for Christmas and get over my lack of boyfriend woes, eager to let Christmas presents and large Utah snow drifts bury my social life until it was time to return home.
There were only a few hours left of school and we were released from our classes to attend the pep rally. Megaera and I hated school spirit just as much as we hated high school sports, so we decided to go on strike. Only not so much a strike as sitting in the cafeteria with the rest of our crowd instead of the gym.
Within moments of arriving in the cafeteria, Megaera practically pounced me looking more excited than I had ever seen her before, with the small exception of a Ska concert when she accidentally started a fight between a bouncer and some guy that mistakenly grabbed her ass.
"Dude, you have to come and meet Matt." She squeeled, obviously wanting to show off her potential boy toy to her friends. Rubbing salt in that wound.
I seethed.
"He's right there," She said and pointed to a long table where a few empty seats remained sitting amongst at least five boys. Three of them I knew personally, leaving two boys sitting on either end of the table. One was tall and skinny and wore glasses. He was adorably cute.
The other boy caught my stare for much longer than his friend did. He had shaggy brown hair that was begging to have my fingers ran through it and a goatee which was odd cause most guys we new still hadn't had the potential to grow facial hair. He wore an army jacket and underneath all black. Sexy wasn't even the proper word to describe it. I exhaled without realizing that I was letting out a soft whimper, the sound of not having been kissed in a while. My face felt flush as I continued staring at him, unaware that Megaera was leading me toward the table by the hand as my heart skipped more than one beat. Withing seconds of taking one look at this gorgeous boy, I was practically undressing him with my eyes, unable to even consider controlling myself.
"I don't care who Matt is," I thought silently to myself. "But God help Megaeraif she doesn't hook me up with his friend."
The closer we got the more my mind began to drift off. As a fourteen year old girl I was well versed in the art of letting my mind get away from me. In the days long before Twilight, I was perfectly capable of constructing a dangerous romantic - and possibly vampiric - tale involving this mystery man and myself, one that would certainly be saved in my brain for lonely cold nights.
I grinned from ear to ear as we approached the table, unable to get the visions out of my head. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I wanted to touch his hair. Oh! I wanted to touch that hair! I wanted to do many strange things when I looked at him. Touch his hair, smell his neck, lean my cheek against his chest and have his hands all over my . . . and then in the midst of me my mental lust induced asthma attack, Megeara stepped behind the sexy beast and said, "Jia, this is Matt."
Okay so you can totally ignore this if you want to. After uploading crap loads of pictures from High School I was like, "Wow I used to be skinny! And look how great my skin was! And holy crap my eyes were bright and I was always smiling!" So I got bored and decided to do a science project. A self examination if you will over the last ten years, trying to just figure out key factors as to where things tended to go wrong.
You can come back tomorrow for more comics, or you can check out how I did this and maybe do it for yourself, or you can gawk at old hottie pics of me from when I was like 15 (you perverts).
When enlarged, this chart shows my picture and the year it was taken, as well as my then weight and health problems that rose during that particular year. I wanted a big long chart so I could quickly look at the progression in regards to my appearance. But it's broken down below. Warning, some of the health issues may be TMI.
Age: 15/16 Health Issues:
I was fairly healthy in 1999. 1998 was my first year in High School and it was pretty normal for a typical teenager, even the drama. I had recovered from the death of my aunt Kathy a few years earlier and in 1997 I had lived with my cousin Mitzi who helped me get my crap together. I was an A student, had many close friends and good relationships prior to 1999. I also exercised here and there. I walked a lot and was very active with my friends (dancing, playing around, etc). However, I was later in the year diagnosed with depression and put on Zoloft (which caused insomnia and actually made the depression worse), I was later put on a sleeping pill to help with the insomnia. I stopped taking the pills after a few months due to the side effects. Possible Triggers: In 1999 I was still considered the "fat" girl in High School. Looking back now it makes me laugh. What I would kill to look and feel like this picture again. The depression I know was caused by the death of my Grandmother in November.
Age: 16 Weight Gain: 10 Pounds Health Issues: While I sort of got through most of my depression and was taken off the medication, I was immediately put on birth control (depo provera) which caused almost instant cycle irregularity, pain, and clotting. I remained on the depo for one full cycle (3 months) and was taken off (cause I wasn't having sex LOL). The one shot of depo was enough to screw my cycles (they still have not regulated.) Hormone issues became a factor because of this, causing the depression to resurface and weight gain. Possible Triggers: In 2000 I joined the Church, and almost instantly lost a friend to a drunk driving accident. This year I also lost half of my friends due to my change in lifestyle regarding my new religion.
Age: 17 Weight Gain: 15 Pounds Health Issues: Hip problems (originally caused by a car accident from 15 years earlier) began to surface. Stress levels increased and depression came back as I began caring less about my appearance. Possible Triggers: I dropped out of High School this year and decided to home school and I graduated later this same year. Instead of school I went to work full time in restaurants, giving me access to very fattening foods. I also got a car this year, no longer forcing me to walk everywhere. I stopped all physical activities. This year Matt and I broke up and I fell in with new friends and relationships that were emotionally damaging.
Age: 18 Weight Gain: 15 Pounds Health Issues: Acne became a strong issue this year. Depression got very bad and I even started having panic attacks (though I didn't know what they were.) Possible Triggers: This year I quit my job and was kicked out of my house. I moved into an apartment (after ending two terrible relationships). I stopped going to Church this year as well. At the end of 2002 I started going back to Church and packed up and moved back home to Utah in order to cleanse my life.
Age: 18/19 Weight Gain: 10 Pounds Health Issues: Developed Rosacea. Back problems increase (because of the car accident) I also threw my back out really bad this year and pulled some muscles in my lower back. Had to go to therapy for it. I was diagnosed again this year with depression, but I refused to take the medicine because of what happened last time. Possible Triggers: After moving to Utah I got a job where I worked very long hours standing on my feet. This year brought good news though when Matt and I got back together and engaged!
Age: 19/20 Weight Gain: 10 Pounds Health Issues: Took birth control the first month of marriage (which nearly caused a divorce among other health problems) stress, hormone imbalances, stress, panic attacks worsen. Also first notice fertility issues. Possible Triggers: Lost my job in April and aside from a few jobs here and there I was a housewife. Walked everywhere as we did not have a car, but we also ate out ALL THE TIME and very poorly. Moved back to New Mexico at the end of the year.
Age: 20/21 Weight Gain: 30 Pounds Health Issues: Due to stress and anxiety, developed OCD (which had been dormant for many years). Due to increased weight gain, developed an enlarged liver. Possible Triggers: Moved back to New Mexico and stopped going to Church. Took up smoking and did not exercise at all. Sleep patterns were disturbed as Matt worked graveyard shifts and I was still a housewife. Had some damage done to friendships and due to increased debt, had to move back in with Matt's parents.
Age: 22 Weight Gain: 15 Pounds Health Issues: In addition to stress, anxiety and other emotional issues, eye sight grew worse. Possible Triggers: Began college, increased smoking habits, stress levels were extremely high revolving around debt and lack of Church. Moved out, and then was kicked out of our apartment forcing us to move back in with Matt's parents (again).
Age: 23 Weight Gain: 20 Pounds Health Issues: Asthma developed, also had problems with gallbladder. Possible Triggers: Still remained with Matt's parents. Began working from home as well as going to school full time. No social life whatsoever.
Age: 24 Weight Loss: 15 Pounds Health Issues: Thanks to weight loss, stopped having problems with gallbladder and liver. However, knee and joint pain increased dramatically. Panic attacks become a daily occurrence. Possible Triggers: Quit smoking, went back to Church. Graduated college and continued to work from home.
Age: 25 Weight Gain: 10 Pounds Health Issues: OCD takes over a good percentage of life. Hair loss becomes noticeable. Fatigue becomes quiet overpowering. Joint pain continues, leading to multiple injuries. Depression returns. Asthma causes seasonal sickness that lasts months. Possible Triggers: Moved out of the house, got further in debt. Matt lost his job. Started working again out of the house (in addition to at home). Lost at home job.
So that's it. I haven't figured it all out yet. Mostly because I'm shocked at the physical difference. Seriously. I look so bright and energetic before and slowly you can see the fatigue growing in my eyes in these pictures. One thing I have noticed is that anxiety sets in despite happiness. During the worst years of my life, I had very few panic attacks and emotional issues, but the years when I have been most happy or secure, is when my OCD and panic attacks seemed to really take hold of me.
Hopefully now that I can see for myself, I can try to reverse some of the things I've done to my body. Ten to fifteen pounds a year doesn't really seem like that much until you add it up. Over 100 pounds gained in ten years. Hopefully it won't take that long to get rid of it.
