How do you celebrate? How long? Who is a part of the celebration? Who plans? What do you ultimately want out of your birthday?

Every year I get asked what I want to do, what’s the plan, what do I want, and it’s all too fucking much! I’ve had enough absolutely terrible birthdays to know that I can’t expect a thing from anyone unless I plan some shit and invite folks (and sometimes even pay for the whole thing). I can’t do that this time. I can’t. I’m not only broke, I’m beyond the point of broke. I’m depressed. I’ve been out of work longer than I have since my very first lay off in 20o3. Life is just too much and not enough for me at the same time right now. I can’t do a damned this to change this. I have tried everything within my power and knowledge and nothing is happening.

So, yesterday, again, my boyfriend asks me what I want to do for my birthday. I tell him I don’t know. That maybe I don’t want a birthday. “Can I donate it to someone who is worse off than me?” I ask him, with sincerity but I don’t think he got that. It’s just that I was raised to not want thing, to not ask for anything and to not ever have expectations for such things because you’re just shooting yourself in the foot if you do.

I have friends who don’t just have birthdays, they have a birthday week or month long celebrations by their friends and family and it’s amazing to me. How does that happen? Where or when does that start? How can this even be a thing? It seems so foreign to me and yet I see it all of the time.

So why does the mere mention of my birthday give me such a ache?  Why are all of the expectations placed on me? I don’t even know what the fuck to do with my life and now you want me to plan a fucking event? I can’t. I don’t have the money and I don’t have the fucking bandwidth.

The last birthday I spent with my then-husband he asked me a few weeks before while we were walking the dog, “So what do you wanna do for your birthday? What do you want me to get you?” and I responded, perhaps a bit too quickly, “I just want to feel special. That’s it.” and he got me the worst gift ever and even ruined my self-papering day by taking the day off and staying home, not to do anything with me, mind you. UGH! It was heartbreaking and I wish I could say it was the only one like that but it wasn’t. There’s been too many.

I just don’t get all of the expectations and planning and what in the actual fuck?!?!?! Ya know? And I couldn’t remember what I did last year for my birthday (2013’s was amazing and the best in my life but yeah I planned that shit like whoa!) and so I went through my photos from last year. I was depressed and out of work. Oh! Exactly where I am now! How fucking depressing! UGH! I just…I don’t even know what I want or what I want to do or if I want to do anything at all. Part of me wants to hide myself away at home and pretend I don’t even exist that day. Drink a bottle of wine alone and watch my favorite movies and just be drunk and cry. But shit, I do that already! Hardly anything special about that.

And I feel gross asking for anything. Like Anything feels like too much! And I need new tires (plus alignment). I need to get the rear end of my poor car repaired. I have a dentist bill that’s gone unpaid. I have debt (from surviving). I want knee high socks. I want to not feel so lonely all of the time. I want a career. I want stability (sanity). I want to feel good about something again. I want to be who I once was, happy, driven, creative, fun…bionic knees and eyes would be nice, too.

No one can just give me those things. So what do I say? I can’t say anything and everything is too much. My heart feels broken a lot of the time and I can’t even put a finger on why. What I want and need doesn’t exist in my world. It’s everyone for themselves and I’m drowning.

My friends and boyfriend are emotionally supportive, please don’t get me wrong about that. I’m alive because of them. I am ceaselessly grateful for their existence and presence in my life! I just can’t help but wonder what the point of it all is. I don’t know what moves me anymore. I don’t have drive or ambition. I don’t have creativity to lift me out of the deeper funks like I used to. Everything I want is a fantasy, it doesn’t actually exist but inside my own head and even that’s tinged with sadness.

I don’t want to bring others down, either. Everyone’s got it rough right now. I can’t expect others to fill the gaps in my sanity and life in general. I’m lucky I have the existence that I do! If not for the grace of my beloved Raven and the state of California’s unemployment program I would be ass-out on the street, for real.

So what do you do? How do you celebrate your day/week/month of you-ness? What about when times are tough and you’re struggling with just being you?

Rad Fatty Love,
<3
S

My blog’s Facebook page for things I share that aren’t on this blog (body positive always, funny sometimes):
http://on.fb.me/1A18fAS
I now also have an Instagram, but I rarely use it…encourage me to?:
https://instagram.com/notblueatall/
And as always, feel free to drop me a line in comments here or write me an email, I love hearing from readers:
notblueatall@notblueatall.com

On a plus size fashion brand’s Facebook page they’d posted some photos of models in their clothing, one featuring a “tutu”, though I’d say it was more just a midi length tulle skirt. I thought they looked great. Sorry I can’t recall the brand, but what won’t get out of my head as much as I wish it would are the comments about the images. “Why would you put a tutu on a fat woman?! Are you insane? No! No one that big should wear a tutu!” and more of the same beneath it. Wow. I was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw those comments. I never read the comments sections on sites I visit, I know better, but these were just displayed beneath the photos but there were a lot more comments not displayed unless you clicked it. I couldn’t avoid it. But it make me sad and angry.

Can we just get one thing straight here?

WHAT ANYONE ELSE WEARS IS NONE OF YOUR DAMNED BUSINESS!!!

If something someone else is wearing doesn’t agree with your delicate sensibilities, look the fuck away! Think about something else. Think about your life. Think about how you got to be a horrible and judgmental asshole. Because that’s what someone who says such things is. I saw the same photos and smiled, didn’t have any further thought or reaction until I saw the comments. “The Fashion Police” is not a real thing and is barely even a legitimate show on a barely legitimate cable television channel. (I hate the whole celeb-gossip-love-hate-obsession culture…oh well!) Policing other people’s fashion choices makes you an asshole even if you don’t comment online or say something in person. You’re still an asshole if you think those thoughts because you’re judging them. Stop it! NOW!

It’s easy to get sucked into this frame of mind, I understand. I do. But knowing better means you can do better and you should do better for yourself. How would it be better for you? When you stop judging others you will soon stop judging yourself and feeling a whole lot better in general. Isn’t that nice? I think so. Same goes for lying! It’s like magic! Stop lying to yourself and others and soon you’ll feel freer. It is one thing to not like a certain style for yourself, but you do not get a say about anyone else. You just don’t.

I think the same things in the media that makes us feel about about ourselves and our bodies (and skin, hair, nails, everything in creation…) also makes us feel as though it’s okay for us to hold others to those same standards. (But they aren’t even your standards, they’re just bullshit marketing strategies to make more money. Gross!) Well it’s not okay. It’s not cool. And you need to stop it immediately. You are not better than someone else. You’re just not. None of us are. We’re just humans. Plain and simple. Having a particular preference for something doesn’t mean you are better in any way shape or form. It’s okay to like things, to prefer not to like certain things for yourself, totally fine. Not fine? Pushing your beliefs on others! Duh!

I was especially upset to see fat women hating on other fat women. It breaks my heart in a very deep way. We get so much shit and vitriol flung at us from everyone and everywhere else, can we not just fucking be kind to one another?! At least let folks just be?! Because that’s all I want, let me be my bad ass self! Why should I make room in my life or time or attention span for haters? No one should. If you’re fat you know the shit we deal with. I mean, most women deal with some form of body hate from people (which is such bullshit), but fat folks know the very specific and painful stinging burn we get from the harassment we receive. Why would you do that to a fellow fatty?!?!??!??!!

Hate breeds hate. Plain as. You have the power to stop it within yourself. It is a choice and it’s a shitty one if you’re continuing to judge people. So don’t be that asshole. Be you. Do better. Be kind to yourself because you deserve it and be kind to others because we’re all just shared cosmic energy flowing in and out of this universe and no one has the right to shit on anyone else’s fashion parade! I get enough of that bullshit from reddit loser-trolls, you can do better than that!

I don’t consume media that makes me feel bad about myself. I don’t subscribe to trashing people. I may not like a particular garment but that doesn’t mean that I get a say or an opinion when someone else wants to rock that shit. Do you. Let the rest be. I would LOVE to wear a tutu like the one in that picture! I wish I could afford one. But if I was wearing one and someone said that shit to me they would never hear the end of it.

It takes all types to make this planet go ’round, but it’s up to you to be the best and most authentic you that you can be.

Rad Fatty Love,
<3
S

My blog’s Facebook page for things I share that aren’t on this blog (body positive always, funny sometimes):
http://on.fb.me/1A18fAS
I now also have an Instagram, but I rarely use it…encourage me to?:
https://instagram.com/notblueatall/
And as always, feel free to drop me a line in comments here or write me an email, I love hearing from readers:
notblueatall@notblueatall.com

Funny how I wrote and posted thrice last week and this week? Nothin’! Ha-ha! Oh well. Honestly? I’m trying to just live and feel better and not setting goals and beating myself up over stuff. But I haven’t just been sittin’ around the house either. I mean, that does happen, especially with the amount of jobs I’ve been applying to (now on 5 months unemployed…that is fucking depressing!), but I’ve been developing more of a routine where I can and creating time and attention to things that help me feel more like me.

Last Saturday I got to karaoke at a friend’s house with my favorite people…my crew! It was great! Here’s me with a very drunk “J” acting silly as usual. We were ridiculous, just laughing at the random-est stuff, but damn we sounded good!

My bf’s pug is nearly two years old now. You can tell with this “Hey Girl…” swag happening here…

My new cushion for my little loveseat! I am in love! (It’s really just a cover I got on amazon for five bucks, stuffed with the guts of an old bed pillow.)

I bring in the groceries and run to the bathroom, like ya do, and come back and find my puggyman has added his own “essential” to my already full grocery bags. Uhhh…thanks? Not really sure what he meant by this… (Note the blue raccoon on top of my red bag)

Self care! Don’t care!

My current coloring book (coloring helps with pain and anxiety management, yo!)…
Amazon has some really great ones and reasonably priced. They make great and affordable gifts!

This bad gel manicure I got on Wednesday, going back today so they can fix it. The pic just doesn’t do justice to this bizarre color transformation. In the salon it looked like it matched the accent nail (ring finger) but when I got home it was splotchy and yellow and green…no blue?!

My puggo!

Feminist sticker club (dot com)

That incredible moment when you unfuck your kitchen table!

So, that’s mostly what I’ve been up to. How are you doing? What’s new? What’s shakin’? What’s happening?
I’m looking forward to seeing The Martian this weekend and getting this nasty manicure fixed today. 😛

Rad Fatty Love,
<3
S

P.S. Way too excited about using the word thrice. I just love it and rarely have a chance to use it. THRICE!!!

My blog’s Facebook page for things I share that aren’t on this blog (body positive always, funny sometimes):
http://on.fb.me/1A18fAS
I now also have an Instagram, but I rarely use it…encourage me to?:
https://instagram.com/notblueatall/
And as always, feel free to drop me a line in comments here or write me an email, always love hearing from readers:
notblueatall@notblueatall.com

As I sit here with a belly that is nourished and a sense of satisfaction with myself that I haven’t known in some time I have to recognize how difficult things most folks take for granted are. I have anorexia. I’ve had it since I was sixteen. When my PTSD, anxiety or depression symptoms arise, the first thing out the window is my appetite. Stress gives me stomach issues, too. If you’ve read any of my last few posts you know already that I’m going through some tough times on my own. I haven’t mentioned my eating disorder because, well, let’s face it, most folks are less than sympathetic about a fat girl not eating, myself included (internalized fat hate, much?!). It’s a shame spiral, for sure. It’s something I couldn’t even admit to myself until I went to an eating disorder (henceforth: ED) workshop at the NoLose conference in 2013. I mean, I knew, I’ve always known, but also, whoa “that’s not me” until you can’t pretend anymore. I wasn’t put on this planet to pretend.

When I am feeling my best it is almost as though I don’t have an ED and go about my life like everyone else*. Sure, I’ll forget to eat breakfast or skip an occasional meal for various reasons, normal. It is when something feels very wrong and out of my control that my ED creeps back and takes over. It happens so smoothly and quickly and usually I don’t notice until I’m in pain or dizzy-shaky and unable to go on without the fuel my brain and body needs. Yes, intellectually I know it is in my head. Intellectually I know there is no moral value in food. I know that my brain and body need fuel to function properly. Big ole Duh! Buuuuut anxiety, depression and PTSD are not the most intellectual company to keep, shall we say. Ugh!

Yeah, here I am admitting that I have an eating disorder and the first thing I have to say in this post is about my full (but not unpleasantly so) belly. The thing is, when I was a vegetarian I had to eat better. This wasn’t a health or moral thing, more just something I needed to do (for five years ha-ha!). I learned to cook as a result of that transition. I had to eat more, too, which was kind of a head trip. My doctor at the time supported me so long as I kept mindful of how I felt and tried to get all of the nutrients I could (this is quite difficult and thus why I slowly re-incorporated meat into my diet). I still had an eating disorder then, but mostly only when I wasn’t home. Being at home felt like I could control things and thus I felt more able and willing to cook and eat. I soon enjoyed cooking! I learned to substitute and improvise and was reminded of this currently underused skill last night.

A Facebook friend who is also a fat writer/blogger posted this article about how cooking isn’t nearly as difficult as people make it out to be and to forget all of that and just try some shit. And you know what? It’s super fucking right!!! I struggled when I moved into my last house with my awesome roommate to cook for myself except on very rare occasions. I think part of that struggle was having a shared space and not feeling comfortable with it being a spectator event. I’ve been in my new solo space for 2.5 months now and have only cooked on my stove three times. The first time I made turkey tacos and felt like a damned rock star for having finally cooked (that was about three weeks ago)!

That article and a PDF I downloaded for free online (“Good & Cheap” recipes for eating on $4 a day) and reading through the recipes and thoughts behind staples and leftovers and suddenly I felt inspired. But then I had to go to bed! Ha ha! But today as I applied to job after job after job, ad nauseam, I began to feel weak and faint and checked the time and instantly had that usual ED moment, “I could probably not eat for another hour or so…” and then I tried to think about what I might be willing to eat. I always have nuts and pickles and string cheese on hand for such moments but then that article popped back into my head and said, “Fuck it!” quite loudly and startled the puggo awake! Oops!

I grabbed some things out of my fridge and headed for my tiny counter top. It was so simple and I don’t know why I never buy eggs or try to cook during the day ever, but I am so glad that I did! I feel like I really overcame something today. What did I make? I made scrambled eggs, basically. Well, my bf has been buying these pasteurized “liquid eggs” in a small carton for awhile and loves the convenience of them, so I bought some last week. I slapped a small pad of butter into my beloved green frying pan (it used to be “As seen on TV” but I got it at Ross for $8) and turned on the gas. I chopped some cherub tomatoes and green onions and poured some eggs into the pan, salt & pepper and stirred with my red with white polka dots rubber spatula (having the right tools does make anything easier). I sprinkled a tablespoon of shredded cheese onto the eggs and turned off the burner. I slipped the eggs onto a small plate, folded the onions and tomato into it and blopped some sour cream on top. While this cooked I had two slices of sourdough in my toaster. I buttered those bad boys and cut them into four (I find cutting into smaller, finger food sized pieces helps me) and plopped them on the place and garnished, I guess, with two baby kosher dill pickles.

That’s it! So quick, like 3 minutes total! And I feel so satisfied. I can’t even describe it. It’s just nice. I never cook eggs and go through phases where I can’t stand them, but this was different. This was no rules, no one watching, on my own terms, smothered in veggies “Sarah Scramble!” and I fucking loved it! The different textures were nice rather than confusing or annoying. And since I did it myself I could make sure they didn’t get overcooked (the worst)! Ohmigosh! A revelation! I know how that sounds, but truly I have had some bad fucking times and I needed a little self victory moment, ya know? And damn was that shit hella good! Whew!

This past Monday I was having a very bad ED day and it was after 4pm as I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed and happened upon this image:

And I thought for a moment and then got right up, went to my fridge and grabbed the last three of those baby kosher dill pickles (I like Clausen brand but if you have a fave do share!) and it was true! I felt better and then had some nuts and string cheese and orange juice. Not a meal, but it was nourishment that I needed. I was battling the worst demons in my head and without seeing that image I don’t know that I would have eaten at all that day and only the universe knows how awful that is for my mental symptoms. When I finally made it to the grocery store on Wednesday you better believe I bought another jar of those pickles! I think I will always have some on hand because of this and also because I have some very fond childhood memories of my siblings and I giggles and munching beside that giant pickle jar my dad got at Costco.

I also bought stuff to make turkey tacos again, stocked up on beans and am excited to be nourishing myself without help. I’ve never lived alone, so not having those external cues is extra hard. Being mindful of how I’m feeling and actually listening to, instead of ignoring, my body’s cues and reminding myself how important that is, I know is what I need. Staying hydrated I finally got down after years of not at all (my friends see me as the hydration police but I’m okay with that). This is simply another step, another lesson and hey, another victory on my journey.

Rad fatty love and tacos to you,
<3
S

*Isn’t it funny how we view “everyone else” as something wholly different, better and separate from ourselves? *Sigh*

My blog’s Facebook page for things I share that aren’t on this blog (body positive always, funny sometimes):
http://on.fb.me/1A18fAS
I now also have an Instagram, but I rarely use it:
https://instagram.com/notblueatall/
And as always, feel free to drop me a line in comments here or write me:
notblueatall@notblueatall.com

Stress is a sneaky, tricky beast. We’re so used to living with a certain amount of stress that often when more gets heaped upon us we hardly notice. Or, if we do notice, we do our very best to go about our lives as usual. Bad move! (Let’s not get into the good versus bad stress discussion now, okay?) The more stress we’re carrying, without actually attending to it, the more difficult life becomes. It will wear you down and rob you of any joy in your life. You’ll eventually forget who you really are and what you truly want out of life. “How did I get here? This is not my beautiful wife! This is not my beautiful house!”

Anxiety is a sneaky, tricky beast. If you live with anxiety, you must work extra hard to avoid known triggers and be mindful of how you’re feeling at any given moment, because you don’t know when you might have a panic attack, but you do all you can to avoid it. There’s also that part about going about your life and living and all of that but you know what? It’s so much harder with anxiety. So much! It feels like having to be my own lookout, watchdog, bodyguard and therapist all at once always. Sometimes I take a tumble or get hit with an unexpected boulder (not literally, I mean could you imagine?!) and it’s like I never saw it coming. I was so careful and worked so hard and was hyper vigilant and it still blind sided me. I was so worried and busy keeping watch that I forgot to listen to my gut. I forgot to ask myself why I wanted something (or to do something). This was the unexpected boulder.

Depression is a sneaky, tricky beast. If you live with depression, it feels like you’re always assuring others that you’re fine, you’re okay, yeah I’ll call you back. UGH! Because everything is too much. You don’t really feel anything inside anymore (while depressed), it’s just sorta dead in there and part of you is okay with that. Part of you finds this calming and familiar. The part of you that is hurting maybe gets a break right? Not exactly. The dead inside part feels like relief at first but eventually it becomes it own burden. You forget how to act around loved ones. Are they staring at me? They think I’m nuts! Is this normal? *ShiftsInSeat* Is THIS normal?!?! Ultimately you just want to crawl back into your cave or hidey hole or whatever and pretend you don’t exist, hoping that soon everyone else will forget, too.

When you have PTSD your life is never truly your own. It will feel that way some times, you’ll feel so normal and your symptoms so far away you can almost forget that you have it. Something will always come up that will trigger you and you’ll feel as though you’re right back in the trauma zone, trapped and unable to ever escape, all over again. I don’t know that this ever truly can end.

My life has taken some interesting turns these last few years. More changes than I can count, that is for sure. I made decisions to create many of those changes in my life, it felt right and necessary and so I proceeded. What I took for granted was stability, or at least the illusion of stability. Living with my husband for fifteen years certainly felt stable, even if it was stressful for both of us at times. When I was laid off the first time, it was terrifying, but there was another income and so things would be okay. I would find other jobs and eventually start my own business. But my own personal stability was shaken and I don’t think I’ve been able to get it back since.

That first lay off was scary but soon after things were on the up and up. Not only that, a year later I found myself on a fast track career path and was loving every moment! I was making more money than I ever had before, constantly learning new skills and technology while also helping people learn new ways to make their jobs more fun and a lot easier. It was great! It was also in mortgage (though I was on the appraisal side) and when that bubble inevitably burst, it seems the trajectory of my life burst with it. Prior to that lay off, my second, we were trying to buy a house. We talked about getting a dog and eventually having a baby.

Things got harder and more stressful and we both began to exhibit signs of anxiety. We tried to support each other emotionally, but we were both survivors of abuse in some form and weren’t whole to begin with, we thought we could be or were whole together. We stopped talking, at least it felt that way. We no longer waxed poetic about our bright future or adventures we’d take or baby names or anything. He the consummate introvert, retreating into hobbies and games. Me, neither introvert or extrovert, but sick of being home alone all of the time, I soon sought out kindred spirits and found them.  They’re love, support and adoration of me felt fantastic and new and exciting and needed. I fell under it’s spell and let it lead me away from what needed to be dealt with.

You get to a certain point years later when you can look back and see the exact moment things broke loose. I know now that I never had control of my PTSD, but the illusion of stability and years of self work and a loving and supportive husband helped so much. Struggling together was better than struggling alone, less scary at least. Everything takes a toll in the end, though, and you don’t get to decide what that toll will be. That toll was my marriage, my stability, my business, my health, and my sanity. It felt so right, I was so confident and certain that leaving was the right thing to do. I still think that it was, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not so sure that my reasons were correct and true. And then everything happened so fast that there was no time to stop and think and look around.

You always think you have time, but that’s not so. Time is its own tricky beast but when it comes to making those huge life changes and decisions, time is exactly what you need. I never could have foreseen or predicted the turns my life’s journey has taken, for better or worse. I am beyond grateful that I still have so many lovely, close and supportive friends that have stuck by me all these ridiculous years. I often don’t feel worthy of their presence in my life but I do try to. They have proven to be my true guardians and watchdogs and protectors, even when I need to be protected from myself. I think it’s why I have such a hard time making new friends and trusting people, I know I’m not normal, but I don’t have a handbook to give either.  How do you forewarn someone that, while you seem and probably are pretty fucking awesome, you also have a brain that has been broken by trauma?

I have said many times that in the end we only have ourselves. I felt good about this as I have worked long and hard to become the person I wanted to. I have proven to myself time and again that I need only me and can figure out the rest. Oh ego! You’re the trickiest beast of all! It’s true that in the end we only have ourselves and this is why self work is so fucking vital! But we also need support, we need people in our lives that can ground us when we’re drifting too far out into the clouds or the into danger zone. I’m someone who will always push myself too hard, often to my own detriment. My chosen family is my life raft!

The events of the last few months have thrown everything I thought I knew, even about myself, into chaos. I thought my PTSD symptoms were a thing of the past. I never thought I would struggle with the weight and sickly veil of depression again. I had no idea that panic attacks would become more frequent in my life even as I was more aware of them and how they worked. Stress and anxiety are already too much for most folks to handle. Throw PTSD and depression and a heap of disappointment and struggle in a very short amount of time into the mix and you have a mental shit storm on your hands, metaphorically speaking.

I wish I had been a better caretaker for myself so that I wouldn’t have put myself in the position to become so overwhelmed. I feel like I should have known better, but I was just trying so hard to appear normal and be there for people and show up when it mattered. I didn’t think about what was best for me or what I could handle. I wanted to be there this last weekend for the right reasons, but for all of the right reasons I see now that I shouldn’t have gone. While I am bolstered by the fact that I was surrounded by loved ones who were willing and able to take care of me when I couldn’t, I feel awful for having put them in that position to begin with. They just keep telling me how amazing I am and I’m over here losing my actual mind and not understanding at all what they see in me. I’ll just have to believe them.

*****************

I share my story because it helps me work through it and it has helped others in their journeys in the past. Sometimes writing it is very painful, other times it is a balm on my soul. I never know until the words come forth on the screen what will become a post, but the process usually feels necessary to do so.

<3
S