… And I’m a food addict. Even as I sit here typing this, I’m snacking. It’s a horrible feeling when you finally realize that you’re out of control and don’t know how to stop.

Sometimes I want to stop… and I can’t. Other times I stop, only to find myself looking in the fridge ten minutes later for something else. I think about food nearly constantly. I can barely make it through a day without thinking about sugar. My cravings are so intense that sometimes I literally have the shakes. Seriously, I feel like I’m a heroin addict. I hate it. I hate myself.

I wasn’t always this way. In fact, I was pretty much the opposite: in high school, I was so thin that my math teacher sent me to a counselor because he thought I was anorexic. My doctor was constantly monitoring me because he thought I was lying about eating. I weighed 104 pounds and was a size 0 for a good portion of my life. Even then, I thought I could always stand to be a bit smaller, but I wasn’t addicted to food then.

I’m not sure what changed that led to my life being like this. I’d love to blame my ex husband, since I started gaining the weight and eating when I met him.  But realistically, the only person I can blame is me. My psychiatrist and I chatted about the food, and I realize that I’d really like rehab.

Right this very second, all I can think about is peanut butter cups. Actually, Reese’s makes a treat like a Klondike bar sort of thing, but with peanut butter ice cream. That’s what I want.

I feel like a hopeless basket case. At one point, I was seeing a personal trainer, and I literally didn’t budge a single pound in the entire time I was seeing her… 4 months of working out 5 days a week, and nada. Not even in inches (since I know that’s what everyone will say). Nothing. I was so stressed about it that I just stopped going. I figured there was no point if I wasn’t going to see any results. Probably a bad idea, but it happens.

Over the last year I have made some minuscule changes, and have made a very small amount of progress: I lowered my cholesterol. In the long run, that’s something I suppose, but it’s not good enough.

I’ve had to stop doing something that I love because it was affecting my sanity: baking. Everyone who knows me knows that I baked at least 4 nights a week. Lately I bake about twice a month. The thought of fresh cookie dough is practically making me drool right now, and the gum and water I have in front of me isn’t cutting it. That’s been really tough too, because that’s how I took out a lot of my frustrations. Concentrating on getting a perfect cookie would always take away whatever stress I had, and made me forget that I was angry. I have yet to find anything that works as well.

So why am I writing all this? Because I need to see it. I’m making a conscious effort to try to do things differently.  I want to change.

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Those of you that know me know that I have a terrible self image. I often compare myself to Jabba the Hut with better hair and lipstick. It causes a lot of issues with the people around me, but most of all with Jason. I don't always realize how whiney I'm being, or how annoying I am, or how frustrated he gets with my lack of a self esteem.

He tells me all the time that I'm beautiful. I can't see it. I'm constantly worried that he's going to leave, and in this process, I am, in reality, driving him away. I'm scared that I'm not satisfying him, and that I'm not good enough for him, and for what? To make both of us insane, and make me hate myself even more? Am I driving him away just so I can tell myself that I was right?

He's unbelievably patient with m. I spent about 1/2 of his last trip home in tears. Why? I don't even know. I even made up some lame excuse for us to break up, because I'm scared that someday he'll realize how insane I am and do it himself. Thank God he knew I didn't really want to, and he shook his head and told me to smarten up

I'm also feeling guilty and like I'm holding him back from things. I don't even know why. He tells me he loves me. Why can't I just believe that? Why do I need to make everything complicated? Why do I hear my friends and family saying shit in the back of my head every time, telling me that there is obviously something wrong with him? I know there isn't. Better question is why do my family members have to even say shit like that in the first place. Fuckers.

I love a wonderful man that loves me back. So why can't my self image just let me be happy? Why do I see Jabba in lipstick every time I look in the mirror?

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I have noticed that I often self sabotage everything. Even when I don’t want to, I still end up doing it. It makes me a little crazy inside.

I finally meet a guy that I like, and what have I already started doing? Picking fights with him, so that I can drive him away, and prove to myself that I was right all along, I am undateable. What the fuck is wrong with me? What kind of crazy person does shit like this? Am I alone in my insanity? Is this just the pms talking today? I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be the person that drives other people away from her. I don’t want to be a pessimistic bitch. I don’t want to embrace the negativity. I’m really quite nice in my everyday life, so why the hell can’t I just get it together and embrace that I’m actually kind of happy?

Holy fuck. I’m turning into my mother. Someone please help me stop the insanity.

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While in the shower this morning, I came to a decision that is going to significantly change my life: I've decided that I don't want kids. I'd been sure of this for quite some time, and now that I'm rapidly 33, it's definitely become an issue of age with me. I flat out don't want to be one of those parents who, at 50 plus, still have teenagers in the house. I know how insensitive that seems, I really do, and for all of you have kids, I congratulate and wish nothing but the best for you, but I know that I am too selfish to do it myself.

I never wanted to be a woman who started having kids after 25, let alone 30 or more. In my younger years I had a lot of problems and my doctor told me if I didn't get pregnant by the age of 25, I likely wouldn't have kids. My mom and all her sisters had to have hysterectomies by 40, and I and their daughters are expected to have the same sort of issues.

So here I am, about to turn 33, and all I can think about is how I'm not going to have kids, so why can't I just get the hysterectomy out of the way now? Is it wrong of me to decide at 33 that I want a tubal ligation? Why are doctors telling me that I'm too young to decide that this is what I want? Why does everyone around me feel the need to tell me that I'm going to change my mind, and worse yet, why are they telling me that I'm going to end up alone because I don't have kids?

I can't and don't want to have children alone, which is what my family thinks I should do. I never wanted to be a single parent, nor do I think it's a good idea for me. To anyone that is, I commend you, for you are far stronger than I could ever be.

I don't know for sure how not having kids is going to affect my life, and sure, maybe in ten years I'll regret the decision that I'm making. I don't think I'm cut out for motherhood, plain and simple. If Mr. Right comes along before my doctor will let me have the surgery and he wants kids, it's going to be a helluva long chat.

And if I am making the wrong decision, well, then I fucked up. But if I have kids and that's the wrong decision, I fuck up more than just my own life, and that's what scares me the most.

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Funny how little things remind you of people in your life. For instance, every time I smell dirt, I think of my grandmother on my Dad’s side. Sulphur reminds me of Mom’s Mom (the water at her house smelled weird, reminded me of sulphur). Resin reminds me of Dad. I never had a grandfather growing up, so I’ve got no memories of them.

But I had a great grandfather. Grampy Kendall I called him. Sticks of gum remind me of him – he used to take us to the wildlife park and give us sticks of spearmint gum. We thought it was for us… Not so. He’d take us to see the black bears, and instructed us to give them the gum. The bears would come over, take the gum from our hands and walk away. Beans and franks remind me of him too. When we were kids and we were hungry, that’s what he made us. We rarely saw him, but he was awesome.

My hairbrush reminds me of Uncle Larry. I was a tomboy as a little girl, but I had this mass amount of long, curly blonde hair. And I HATED letting mom brush it. So when it got tangled enough that it needed to be brushed, I’d run across the yard to Uncle Larry’s house with my brush, and let him do it.

The word “Information” reminds me of Dave, as does the TARDIS sitting on my desk. If you know of the Dave I am referring to, you’ll understand this.

I see a little dog, and I can’t help but be reminded of Rene and Kari. 

Yesterday I saw a rooster. I burst out laughing, thinking of @Wildsau.

My favourite brand of vodka reminds me of my ex.

A lot of things remind me of Sandy. I don’t get through a day without thinking about her. This morning I woke up with Roxy Roller stuck in my head. That’s her song.

But I’m writing this because of what just happened. I was sitting here. Coolio, of all things, came on the radio. 1. 2. 3. 4. Yeah. One fat tear rolled down my face. William. He loved this song. It would come on the radio in the car and he’d start giggling, and ask us to turn it up louder, and he’d sing along. I miss that. I miss him. What a stupid, regrettable mistake I have made there.

Little every day things remind me of all the great things, the great memories, and the sad moments that have shaped my life. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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Last year, I was in a different place in my life.

Last year, I made a pact with myself, that if I was still feeling the same, I was going to end my life.

Sadness, loneliness, emptiness, fear, despair... All those things overtook my and I knew that I needed something to happen to keep me from doing it.

I'm still an emotional wreck sometimes, but I've gotten much better this past year. I still have nights when I come home from work, and go to my room and don't come out. I've spent entire weekends in my bed. Crying and feeling ashamed for needing help just made things so much worse. And it's hard when you feel you have no one to talk to. I've been told that I put on a good show, because most people don't have any idea that I spent months wanting to just... End it.

Sometimes I see a flicker of a light at the end of my tunnel. That tiny flicker is the hope that I hold onto, the small speck of hope that keeps me feeling ok.

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I have some pretty vivid, intense dreams. Dreams might not be the right word. I have nightmares. Sometimes they’re beyond comprehension. I’ve woken up sweating, screaming, crying, choking… I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and had to call someone and wake them to calm me. Once I had a dream that I was out walking, near the ocean, and there was a cliff. A little girl was running towards the cliff, and she turned around and said goodbye to me, and then jumped. I had that dream a few years ago, and it will never leave my head.

Another night, I had a dream that someone was choking me. I woke up with tears streaming down my face and I couldn’t breathe. For countless night afterward, I would wake up worried that I couldn’t breathe.

I’ve watched myself die in my nightmares more times that I would like to recall.

Last night, though, was a different ball game. Last night, I dreamed about zombies.

  I can still see the weird eyes they had. Like cats eyes, but orange. At least until they realized they were zombies, then they  turned red. Somehow I knew that when they turned fully from human to zombie, they got weird, distant and quiet. And then they’d come after  you.

In the dream, I was sent in to make sure that they had a smooth transition, because, as they said, I’m the kind one that calms people, and gives them what they need. In the dream, that put me in danger. I was locked in a classroom with 2 zombies that were about to change, and 2 others. They were all high school kids. I was there to help, so I started by talking to the ones that weren’t in danger of changing about how they could help me. Then I had to start counseling the kids who were changing. There were 2, a boy and a girl. The boy was changing far quicker than the girl. We were all talking about how scared they were, and then I realized that everything went quiet. They charged after all 3 of us. I pushed the kids out the door, and ran.

Then I remember seeing myself, in the dream, hiding in the corner. I was behind zombies who were attacking people and I couldn’t help them.

Then I was grabbed from behind, and pushed into a car. Someone had come to rescue me.

And then I was in a submarine, sort of. It was sort of like a huge orb. Like a Death Star, but underwater. And so many windows, I could see us sinking and look out and see bubbles rushing. I fainted in my dream. And when I woke up, I was in a new civilization, some sort of island. I was sitting on a rock, the sun streaming on my face, my feet in the water. Someone called my name and I turned around…

And then my alarm went off. At least I didn’t have to watch myself die this time.

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Sandy found out last year on her birthday that she had cancer. I've never seen anyone so positive about being sick before. Looking back, it reminds me of all the wonderful things she did for others over the years.

Starting with the boys. Sandy had a friend who ended up being a junkie, and not being able to care for her kids. Sandy took them in and raised them herself so they wouldn't have to be stuck in foster care. The eldest has FAS, and has a lot of developmental problems. Both of them ended up being issues for her, and after raising them for a very long time, she was forced to say goodbye. Both of them had basically turned into their mother. It broke Sandy's heart to give them up.

However, she did move on to a better life: She met Scott. Scott and I were friends before Sandy and I became friends. I'm kind of responsible for them meeting and falling in love. Scott was talking about going to Vegas. I invited Sandy and myself, and then decided I couldn't go. They started spending time together, and after the boys moved, Sandy and Scott moved in together. I tell ya, I have never seen 2 people so happy. They adopted a dog, Copper, and were living a very happy life together.

Sandy was a kind and giving person. I know very few people like her. Even when she was at her sickest, if she knew I was upset she always asked about me. She rarely complained about how much pain she was in. She was still smiling through the pain. I'm sure it was for my benefit. I'm insanely emotional and she knew that I'd be a disaster.

Sandy spent the last day of her life surrounded by the people who loved her the most. Her friends were having their time with her too: We made her a scrapbook, and had planned to take it to her the morning she died. Her mother and Scott saw us later that day, and her mother has it in her home now.

Going to her funeral was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. However, in true Sandy fashion, she got what she wanted: They played Here For A Good Time by Trooper. Andrea, Christa, Dale and I wore leopard printed scarves, something she would have loved. Her Dad gave the eulogy, a wonderful tribute to her. He talked about all the great things she had acheived in her 35 years of life, and he talked about her prized posession: Her 1970something Nova SS. The restoration was about to begin when she got sick, and her Dad is going to finish it for her.

Sandy was so positive, loving, caring, and generous, and that is how I will always remember her: With a smile on her face no matter what. The last day I spent with her was lovely, we fell asleep in the same room and watched some mindless reality show. She'd had a good day, and that's how I choose to remember my best friend.

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I wish I had told you how much you meant to me before it was too late.

I wish I'd spent more time with you. I can't ever change that.

I am grateful for the last 5 years. Being your friend made me see what's important in life. You taught me how to be a better person, how to stand up for myself, and how to be a friend.

Sandra, you may be gone from this world, but you will always, always be in my heart.

I love you.

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I'm a mess.

I genuinely hate most things about me. I avoid things as much as I can... I purposely don't attend social events because I'm terrified that everyone will see me for who I really am on the outside. I've had lots of opportunities to meet new people, but I can't do it. I'm still the same person on the inside, but the world doesn't judge you that way. As much as everyone wants to say that this isn't true, it is. And everyone is guilty of it at some point.

I'm terrified of ending up like one of those people you see on talk shows that has such low self esteem they don't leave the house. I'm already beginning to wonder if this is part of the reason for the all the panic attacks I'm having lately.

I don't like feeling this way. But when it's regarding things about you that can't be changed, it's not easy to just get over.

This isn't a pity post, this is me trying to figure out how to approach the subject of my insanity. Someday, I'll need to figure it out.

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Dear Baby,

Two years ago, I found out about you. You were an accident, the product of a broken condom. I was a mess. I didn't think I was ready for you...

I was madly in love with your father. He was not madly in love with me. He didn't take the news about you as well as I had hoped, and the relationship was doomed, and over at that moment.

From the moment I found out about you, I was convinced you were a boy, and to spite me, you were going to be the spitting image of you father - blonde, blue eyed, and beautiful. Your father looks like Gordon Ramsay; I'm sure you would have to.

You weren't planned, and I was scared. I don't know if I've ever felt so alone in the world and I did at the moment I saw the plus sign.

I began making plans on how I was going to raise you alone. I cried all the time. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I knew that you and I were going to be ok, somehow.

Two years ago this week, I was sitting in a doctor's office, crying, losing you. I felt such a terrible range of emotion that day - sadness, relief, grief... At the end of the day, I went home feeling empty and numb. I hadn't wanted you, but now that I no longer had you, I felt like my life had been torn apart. I wanted to die.

I see photographs of your cousins and I know that we would have been ok, somehow. You'd be almost 17 months old now, just a little younger than Bella and a little older than Jonah.

I still cry for you sometimes, though I've healed. I wonder what your laugh would have been like, how you would look when you smiled... I wonder how I would have done, being your mom. Would I have been a terrible mother? I wonder how he would have done being your dad too. He may have a lot of faults, but I think that deep down, he is a good person and would have loved you. I wonder if he ever thinks about you, and how you would have changed his life too.

What I wouldn't give to smell your sweet baby smell, wrap you in a blanket, dress you in a little monkey outfit, put you in a Maple Leafs jersey for the whole family to see. They'd have loved you too.

My sweet baby Andrew, I may not have wanted you at first, but I still loved you and wish that everything had been ok. I'd give everything away, just to spend 5 minutes holding you.

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Sometimes, a person will walk into your life and change everything you are... sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst.

I've been lucky that most of the people in mine have made it better. I'm here to talk about 3 of them.

One of those is a very unlikely person: My Ex Husband.

Yep, I said it. My ex husband changed my life for the better. I can admit that. He helped to me realize that my mother doesn't always know best. He helped me stop drinking and doing drugs. He brought me across the country to this province that is my home now and I dearly love. And to him, I say Thank You. You may have broken my heart, but I am a better person today because of you and I can never thank you enough for that. You brought a wonderful little boy into my life who made me realize what unconditional love was.

The second person I met that changed me for the better was Dave. He probably doesn't realize it. He's pretty much one of the best friends I have ever had. He's never judged me, he helped me get past something extremely emotional by just letting me sit and cry. Sure, he makes fun of me for bawling my eyes out when I'm watching a movie (he'd have a field day right now with the amount of tears streaming down my face) and he laughs at how easily I am manipulated by TV (again with the tears), but I think that's secretly why we get along. He's also responsible for  introducing me to something that forever changed me: Watchmen. It was the start of me embracing my inner geek, and since then I haven't turned back. So Dave, thank you. Thank you for being there, and making fun of me, and letting me be me.

Last, I want to talk about Sandy.

I met Sandy a few years ago when I had just moved to Edmonton. She was a co-worker in a different dept at my first job. We never really spoke all that much, but she seemed like a good person.

Shortly after I started the job, Scott started. Scott and I worked in the same department and became pretty good friends.We'll get back to Scott, he's a very important part of this.

Eventually, I started hanging out with Sandy and we became good friends as well. We discovered that our birthdays are only 2 days apart, and decided to go to Vegas together. This wasn't an entirely fun filled trip, but getting stuck in California overnight made it better.

Little did I know just how great of a person she is. She's the most giving, kind, loving person I have ever met, and I genuinely mean that. I think if I needed it, she'd give me her last sweater. She is so strong and amazing. She's indescribable, really. I don't even want to know what my life would be like if I'd never met her.

Back to Scott. Scott's an old soul... And I can't begin to thank him enough either. Scott and Sandy eventually began dating, and I was thrilled. And now that Sandy is sick, I can't imagine him not being there. He takes better care of her than I could imagine anyone else ever doing. I've even thanked his mother for raising her son the way she did, because she did a hell of a job, he's amazing.

I'm off track here, and I guess I've decided there are 4 people in my life that have changed things, and I thank all of them. I can't imagine how things would be if I'd never met you. Love you all (except the ex husband :P)

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☺ ) and I broke up in the late summer of 2009. I didn’t date for much for the rest of the year, and then in 2010 I met P. P was nice, seemed ok, a little geeky, but hey, so am I… I thought we were going to be a good fit. And then he took me back to his apartment. Now, I know I’m a geek, but this place looked like a teenage boys bedroom. Comic books everywhere, Warhammer stuff on display…  It was far too much for me, so I threw that fish back and started again.

After P came R. R and I decided to meet up at Chapters. He then asked what I like to read, so I told him. Immediately, he starts telling me I’m too macabre. And then he talks to me about Star Trek and strippers boobs the entire time. I left and went home with no intention to call him again.

Next came 5 Date Guy. This has been his nickname for a while and some of you have heard of him before. After 5 dates, he still had never made a move and I, at that point, intended to end it, but because he was nice I kept going out with him… for a total of 13 dates. 13 and no move was ever made. We spent a lot of time together, and he kept telling me over and over that he was interested and wanted it to go somewhere… but nothing. And I’m obviously really stupid to have gone out with him more than a few times, and to think that he was actually interested, but I did it anyway.

Next up, someone I like to refer to as Q. He thought all his charm would get me into bed, and when it didn’t work, I was referred to as the biggest whore around.

There was the guy who turned out to be married. That lasted about ten minutes.

And the most infamous… Hickey SweatPants. Wtf buddy? He shows up on a first date wearing sweats, with a huge hickey, and then calls to tell me that he thought it went great? Then an email sent to me telling me that if I ever “want a good fucking” (his words, not mine) not to call him.  Loser.

The most recent guy is known as Candy Guy. He says he lured me into his car with candy. He’s awesome… but he smokes. And I know that may seem shallow… but I can’t date a smoker.

So, why do I bother to try anymore? Am I insane? Likely, yes. Do I think I’m destined to become a spinster? Absolutely.  Do I think most of the issues are with me? I do. I definitely think that I’m the one with the problem. Do I set myself up to fail? Probably.  So, do I start a cat collection, or do I keep trying? I haven’t decided yet. But when I do, the twitterverse always knows.

☺

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

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My 2 years smoke free anniversary is coming up in 2 weeks.

I’ve been reflecting a lot on the decisions that led me to quit smoking, and the journey my life took over the last 2 years. Let’s start about 3 years ago.

Early 2008 - I met a guy.  I liked said guy. It was never going to be serious, he was the wrong kind of guy for me to be involved with, but just the same, I got involved. Complicating things was the fact that we worked together.  This story is the reason I will never get involved with a co-worker again.

We had decided early on that this was just going to happen naturally. No commitment, nothing like that, just let it be the way it was. And it seemed to work. We got along, and until the last few weeks when things went to shit, we never even so much as had a fight.

In October of 2008, I got offered a new job. This turned out to be a huge blessing all around. I started in November, and a month later, on December 27^th, I discovered something that was about to change my entire life: My sore boobs and overactive bladder had come for a reason. I was pregnant.

Initially, I was in shock. I thought the test was wrong. I bought a second. And then a third. All positive. At that point, I’d already had a cigarette that morning. I called my roommate to the bathroom. I told her I need another cigarette to get past the shock.

That was the last cigarette I smoked.

Telling him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Because there was no commitment, I didn’t know how he was going to react. It wasn’t good. We barely spoke after that, and every time we did, it ended with me in tears and him being upset, and it was unhealthy. We talked about our options, what we would do, what was going to happen.

I went to work a complete and utter basket case. I’d been at the job for just over a month, how was I going to tell my boss that I was going to have a baby? I decided to just keep my mouth shut. Since I work alone up here in the office most of the time, I knew that if I was upset, or not feeling well, no one would really notice anyway. Little did I know that the one day I would have a serious breakdown, my coworker would come upstairs in the midst of me sobbing.  He knew that the relationship had issues, and thankfully just assumed that was it. He left me crying at my desk.

Fast Forward. January 15, 2009. I’m having my first ultrasound, so they can determine a due date. I see the tiny fetus. I am a mess. I’m terrified. I don’t want to be a single mother. I don’t know what to do. I think I need a cigarette, but I don’t do it.

January 31, 2009. It’s Saturday. There is so much snow on the ground. Everything seems peaceful. I’m having a miscarriage. And I feel like the worst person in the world for feeling relieved. I spend 2 days crying, and apologizing to my unborn baby. I feel like dying.

I speak to him for the last time in February. He asks if I’m ok. I tell him I’m not, but I’m working on it.

August, 2009. My cousin gives birth to Isabella.

September 4, 2009. My due date. I cry myself to sleep. Again, I think I want a cigarette, but it’s been this long.

October 13, 2009. My nephew Jonah is born.

June, 2010, another cousin gives birth to Breah.

And other cousins are adding more to the family.

All I can think is my baby would have had lots of company. And I cry.

Which brings me to today, December 14, 2010. I’m still not smoking. I’m happy to report that I’m no longer a mess. Quitting smoking was the best thing I ever did for myself. I may have gained a few pounds, but I do feel better. Taking off the weight is hell though. I hear people say things about it and it upsets me. But, I have to think about how my life has been affected and look at the things I do for myself and for others, and I know that I’m ok.

So, happy anniversary to me in 2 weeks. I’ll raise a glass of something to myself.

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