Therapalooza

Well it happens once a month…every so often it is every 5 weeks…a very special event occurs. I don’t know how many people get to experience it; perhaps only special people get to experience Therapalooza. (Yeah, so you’re surprised that I’m one of the chosen “special,” huh?)

Go ahead. Ask.
I know you want to.
I can read your mind. (Just because mine is a bit…well let’s just say mine is a bit…doesn’t mean I can’t read yours.)
Be like Nike and just do it.

“OK, Moms,” you say, “I’ll ask.”

WHAT THE F*CK IS THERAPALOOZA??????

Therapalooza is the once monthly day when I have my appointment with my therapist AND the shrink who dumped me on the same day!!

Calm down, my friend, I know that you are jealous of Therapalooza. Sometimes I am even jealous of myself during the other 29 or 30 days that are not Therapalooza.

And now, without further ado…or even adon’t… a recap of Therapalooza!!!

Therapalooza Act I: The Shrink Who Dumped Me

*I’ve got issues.
Issues with Bobby and Double (Big F*cking Issues, with a capital ISH!)
Issues with Margaret (Again that capital ISH!)
Issues with Seth…no, I take that back. The issues are not with Seth himself, but with the fact that Seth just got laid off due to no fault of his own and the incredible anxiety I am feeling about temporarily having one income.
Issues with ED (Big, Huge, Fat F*cking Cow Issues with a capital ISH ISH ISH!!!)
Who’s ED?
Issues with all my other issues.
Issues with issues with issues on top of issues with whipped cream and cherries on top.
Did I mention issues?

Oh, did I tell you that I want to get a second job? Not a second career. Nothing major or full-time or even important enough that I will rue burning a bridge when my brilliant Seth gets another even better full-time job, second job. Just the run-of-the-mill not something I really want to do because I have nothing better to do second job. I’m talking tutoring which will give me some good money but every certified teacher who wants to pick up a second job wants to do. Or babysitting which is a pretty simple task for a mom (we’ll leave off the “gotsproblems” part) with three kids and you’re right I don’t really desire to work all day with kids and then be with my kids and then spend weekends with mine and others so I can get extra money. And I would most likely be able to get the same money a high school kid would get even though I theoretically could and should get more but I would be able to get the jobs now and then it would be more in my pocket than working retail and seriously I don’t think I could handle waitressing.*

Conclusion: Yes, you do have big, fat f*cking issues. Yes, your life does suck. No, I will not give you a stimulant for your ADHD. Yes, I know that is the only thing that really worked, but because of ED I will not give you them. Here’s a prescription for *%&%$%^^%$##%. See you next month during Therapalooza.

OK, so what that I am paraphrasing. You get it, right?

Moms!
What?
Get on with it?
With What?
You’re Killing me. I’m begging you to let me read about ACT II of Therapalooza.
Sure. Do you want the “I will take the about 17 MINUTE THERAPY SESSION transcript and stretch it into the 50 MINUTE THERAPY SESSION transcript” version? or the super-elapsed, “you totally get the point without me turning this already longer-than I planned entry” version?
What do you mean you’re not sure? Really?
Well me being Momsgotproblems, and me being so wonderfully and awesomely accommodating (Yeah, we already established issued filled) I’ll give you both!

Therapalooza ACT II: The Therapist

Here’s the super-elapsed version (sans conclusion): Start reading at the * and stop when you reach the *.
Here’s the stretched-out, 17 minute into 50 minute transcript (sans conclusion): Start reading at the *, read unit you reach the * and then repeat 3 or 4 more times (depending on how fast you read.

Conclusion: Yup, Moms=issues. I get it, Moms. Right now life, excuse my language, life sux (I totally get a kick out the fast she always says that while I frequently and spectacularly drop the f-bomb). How are you taking care of you? I don’t think getting a second job is a great plan. Sell stuff on craigslist. It’s wrap-up time.

Still jealous of Therapalooza? I’ll be happy to take along some of your questions to raise during next month’s celebration.

****IF YOU CAN TELL ME HOW MANY TIMES I USED THE WORD “ISSUE” OR “ISSUES” AND IF YOU COMMENT (LET ME REPEAT–AND YOU COMMENT) I’LL EMAIL YOU A SUPPLY OF CHEESEBURGERS THAT WILL LAST FROM ONE THERAPALOOZA TO THE NEXT THERAPALOOZA.

Which Came First, the Chicken or the Egg?

Ok, so this entry has NOTHING to do with a chicken or an egg; if you are farmer, butcher, grocer, or vegetarian, I’m sorry. This really isn’t written with you in mind. I’m focusing on the question itself, of how to choose, of how to get one thing and have it lead to another, and not the specific choices. Forgive me if I have mislead you (but hey, that’s what tags are for, right?).

I just finished reading and replying to a blog entry written by truthandcake entitled, “What Did You Give Up, To Get What You Got?” It got me thinking (yeah, I know, the smoke coming out of my ears is preventing light from filtering into the room…) about my own life and what I have and what I want.

A lot of what I am going to say is not new information to those who are avid readers of my blog. (And if this is the first time you are learning this information, it means that you have been denying yourself immense pleasure and satisfaction by NOT reading and following my blog faithfully–no time like the present.) I am married to Seth, a great husband and father. I have Margaret, Beth, and Ann, my three wonderful daughters. I love teaching and have been doing it for seventeen years now, and I’ve been in the same school for the last thirteen years. I love my house; it’s not large, but we all know that is not everything. I even adore my minivan, even though none of my daughters play soccer. Seth and I are not rich by a long shot, but we don’t have to worry about being able to pay our bills. Friends? I wish I had more than the number of fingers on my hand, but we can’t have everything.

Can we?

If admittedly I have so many treasures in my life, why am I not happy? A lot of people would kill to have the things–and by things I don’t just mean things, but people as well–I have, but I do have them and it’s not enough.

Not enough?

Not enough? Really? What the hell do I want? There are the things I want, and the things I WANT. (Huh? What the you know what is momsgotproblems talking about? This makes no sense?) Somethings I want, I really don’t want, but I say I want. (Bear with me, here.) I always say that I want to get away and not be doing the same old thing I always do. In my mind’s eye, I see myself dancing in a packed club (I’m always skinny in these “visions”), sampling the fares in a fabulously expensive restaurant in which the kitchen is run by a famous chef who creates his daily menu based on his momentary fancy, bathing in the sun on a white sandy beach in some tropical place (again, I am not only skinny in this one, but wearing a teensy, wheensy f*ck-me-red string bikini with the strap half untied), etc., etc. Oh, and before you say anything, I KNOW that was a really crazy long run on sentence.

What else do I want, but really don’t want (but would be happy if I had them anyway, even though I won’t ever get them)? I want the body of Catherine Zeta Jones. I want Harrison Ford and/or Antonio Banderas to walk to my door and sweep my very skinny, light body off my feet. You get the point? For one reason or another, NONE of these things will ever happen. Even the whole having a good time without a care in the world stuff is moot; I have too many anxieties, allergies, and…dare I say it? FAT! for these things to happen. (Hey, grammar police! Yeah, you! Lay off here!)

And then there are the things that I really want but seem to elude me. I want a group of good friends that have time for me in their lives and really want me to be there. I want the acquaintance friends that are good for a drink and a chat. I want improvements on my house; minor things that we would be able to do with a significant amount of elbow grease and careful research. (Gotta love the web that is the source of my limited knowledge.)

Oh, did I mention I want to be skinny?

So compare the things that I do have to the things I want, and not the Antonio stuff. I have a lot and I should be so very thrilled. The things I want are not so drastic that they may never, ever happen. Well you know me, they won’t ever happen, but still, right?

So I ask again, why am I not happy? Why? And how do I feel about having so many things that should make me feel happy and not feeling happy? Depressed.

Depressed? Really? I’m depressed because I have so many things to be happy about but I am unhappy because I am unhappy when I should be happy because I have so many things I should be happy about?

You read me right, my blog readers. I talk in circles.
I go in circles.
I think in circles.
My life is a circle.

I’m always spinning my wheels, knowing where I want to go, how to get there, having the means and the mode (not in math language, that I almost flunked, I’m sorry to say) to get there, and not going.

I have the road map and the GPS and the backseat driver, but I choose to turn to continuously go around the rotary. (For those of you who are from New Jersey, I think it is the round-a-bout and for the rest of you non-New Englander’s, it is the traffic circle.

What is wrong with me?

I don’t know which came first, the chicken or the egg.
All I know is that I am hungry.

*Big, huge, after-the-fact, disclaimer: I went all over the place with this entry. Hopefully you found a kernel of insight that made this incredibly honest, witty, well-crafted, enjoyable, intelligent, yadda, yadda, yadda entry profoundly touching. Share with me. I want to know what kind responses this invoked in you, because, like, we know that such amazing writing did.

Just a Good Ol’-Fashioned Rant

Ok, I should warn all the millions of you reading my blog (I can dream, right?), that there is nothing fascinating or witty or insightful in today’s entry. It’s just a rant–no holds barred, anything goes spewage of what’s in my head.

Where should I even begin? My life is a hot mess. I know this is nothing new and you’ve seen this phrase from me before, but it is what it is; my life is a hot mess.

I am tired of things going in circles and I’m tired of rehashing the same old sh*t to no avail. “Getting it out” has not been helpful. I am frustrated with hearing my own voice blab about my same problems.

I take one teeny baby step forward, and I am vilently pushed back several yards. It’s stupid and such a waste of time and effort. Why bother? Is there a point? Am I accomplishing anything?

No. No. NO!!!

Things with my family are so screwed up, no amount of twisting will fix the problems. What are the issues? I just can’t get into them again. Again? I knew I haven’t shared them with you, but everyone else in my life have heard my tale of woe; I am beyond sick and tired of talking about them. Needless to say, HOT MESS.

And ED? He is pissing me off on such a grand scale. If you have been keeping up with my blog, then you already know my thoughts about him.

And me? I hate me. I am frustrated with me. I am a failure. I am a hypocrite. I am a liar. I contribute nothing spectacular to anything. I fill a void in life–not my life, mind you. Other people’s lives. Again, I am not talking about bringing happiness or joy or anything special like that. I’m talking about basic kinds of needs stuff. The stuff that other people could be hired and paid to do tasks. If it weren’t for money and expenses, I would be completely expendable.

What do I do? I drive the kids around–pick ups and appointments and the like. I sometimes cook dinner. I am supposed to do laundry, but my laziness usually prevents this from happening. I can comb hair and play with toys. I should clean up the kitchen and the bathroom and the toys, but I don’t. I should do a lot of things, but I don’t.

Let’s not forget that there are things called nannies and cleaning services and housekeepers and drivers and cooks. Couldn’t they do all the things I’m supposed to do? Wouldn’t they actually do a better job than I do. Yes and yes. If it weren’t for things being so expensive in this world, those tasks would be “outsourced” and I could do what I do best: NOTHING!

The thing, or one of the things, that really piss me off is that even with doing NOTHING I am not happy. If I could say that I was doing other things to better myself and make me less depressed during that time, it would be one thing. But I can’t. I am not concentrating on curbing my bingeing. I am not getting out there and exercising. Hell, I’m not even using that time to purge or take pills–which I would like to do.

I am bitching and moaning and “woe-is-me” ing and nothing changes and nothing gets better. Let me strike that. Things do change.

What is it?
What is it?
What is that light in my pathetic dark tunnel of my being?
What is the catalyst that breaks up the depressing monotony of my life?

The only thing that changes is my weight. Sort of.

Sort of? Either it does or it doesn’t.

Well if you look at it that way, it does change. It goes up. And for the briefest of moments it goes down. And then up. And then up. Then slightly down. Then a big jump down and a little step up. And then a giant gain and a microscopic loss. And then equal gains and losses. And then gains. Big, stupid, hated gains.

All my fault. Who’s fault could it be?

I got on my scale today–as I do every day, unless I realize that there is no point because the numbers will be bigger, rounder than before. But just about every day I weigh myself. And I knew it was going back up into dangerous territory. I knew things were getting very, very bad again even without the number confirmation. I was bingeing and bingeing more with temporary disregard of what that binge would look like on my scale, my stomach, my thighs, my hips, my *ss. Every day I would see the reminder of my actions and realize that I would soon be back where I started back in January when I (along with 80% of humanity) decided to get serious about weightloss and drop pounds and lose inches. And I suppose along with 78% of the people deciding that, I am a miserable failure. Nobody’s fault but my own.

And guess where I am today? Go ahead and guess.

I’m right back to where I started on January 2, which was the day of my getting serious and doing what needed to be done to shed this fat, disgusting body and take the necessary actions on my journey to looking like a person. I weigh exactly the same as I did on January 2. The same!!!!!

Now my therapist would say that clearly what I am doing isn’t working and I should try to eat balanced throughout the day, week, month. Yeah, that’s not going to happen. There is no “balance” in my life. I do or I do not do. I eat or I don’t. There is no happy medium. There is no boundary that is observed. Coping skills and distraction and diversion and strategies and satiety cues are all lost on me. I don’t use them, for whatever reason. Congratulations for those who do, and f*ck you to those who don’t (um, me!).

I have heard so many cliche’s from people–therapists, co-workers, friends, family–no I’m not sure if family really cares enough to bother.

“You didn’t gain all this weight overnight (as in recently and quickly), so you cannot expect to lose it overnight (as in soon and quickly).” Um, yes I did and I do.

“Failure (or stupidity) is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.” Well, yeah, I get that, but I am not trying to do the same thing over and over and over–aka bingeing– and I’m trying to do different things–aka consistently restricting, fasting, etc. And before any of you say that I am setting myself up for a binge, I have shown that regardless of what I do or don’t eat, when I decide to eat, I binge. The only cause is me choosing to binge and the effect is, well you know what the effect is.

“You don’t look like you have an eating disorder.” All I can say to that is anorexia is only one type of eating disorder. There are others that do not make you appear very skinny. Trust me, I wish anorexia was the only eating disorder and I was blessed with having that disease. How many people would say to others, “You don’t look like you have diabetes/internal bleeding/one kidney”? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“You are being so selfish.” Not sure how to combat that one, really.

“You are doing it for attention.” Ironically enough, I hear this one from the people who are close to me. First of all, the last thing I want to do is draw any attention to me and this fat f*cking mound of flesh that I call a body. Second of all, there are a lot better ways to get attention than by eating more than an oversized mammal. And finally, what kind of attention is “it” getting me? Anything good? Or uplifting? Right.

And I saved my favorites for last.

“Just stop it.”
“Cut it out.”
“Just stop eating.”
“Eat in moderation.”
Oh my goodness! The answers! If only I realized! I could have been rid of “it” (and yes, people refer to ED as an ‘it’ as if I was accessorizing my life with a new handbag or designer heels). I never knew that it was so simple! Shame on me for searching out a difficult solution, when the cure was in front of me all the time! Seriously?

For now, I am going to continue kidding myself and lying to myself and saying that I’m going to really do it now. I’m really going to get serious and make ED work for me, rather than me being led blindly by him. I’m going to not eat on certain days and eat very little on some days and exercise almost all days. If I eat, I will purge. I will take whatever pills I can find that will help me achieve my goal of weighing a reasonable amount.

Ha.
Whatever.

I’ve got a bridge to sell you in New York.