Cleaning House

I’m continuing to engage in the vanishing act that was imposed upon me Monday by The Invisible Man. I have dutifully deleted all contact info, removed shared folders, updated passwords and even survived the knife to the gut new millennium true final breakup move of being “unfriended” on FaceBook. But now that the virtual evidence of his existence has been erased it’s onto the more daunting task of exorcising the physical artifacts.

I would assume when most long term relationships die people get more than a 10 minute phone call to work out all the bits and pieces, both practical and impractical. There is time for emotional closure and a wrap up of unfinished business; you know - something like a relationship exit interview. However this was not the plan that The Invisible Man set forth, he instead announced frankly that we were done, just hang up the phone and return immediately to your life without hope of ever hearing from me again. It was so fast and so final, well at least for me, that I had no time to unpack the decades of ‘stuff’ from my head and my heart. I really thought that after all this time I deserved more of an ‘ending process’ in which I was an active participant not just a passive receiver of a final surprise ruling at the stroke of High Noon that left me weeping on a park bench.

Anyways now I’m left with “shared” items that have accumulated in my apartment, items that I need to discard or else suffer the ghosts that lurk behind my closet doors. As I photographed my past life and readied the images for my Ebay postings my body ricocheted through my entire inventory of emotions. 

Wow, whomever my future therapist is, she is gonna get an earful.

Waiting For the Phone to Ring

I placed my call for help to three head shrinkers and now I impatiently await a reply and hopefully a purgefest of all this gray goopyness.

As I wait I have taken a few steps to stem back the tide of emotional malaise and promote forward movement:

1 – I removed ALL Adele tunes from my ipod, damn that woman knows how to poke at a sore spot, and I replaced her tracks with The Olympic Theme. I pity the person who can feel stagnant when those trumpets blow; glad I haven’t gotten to that point yet.

2- I’m back at the gym, “they” say that being active organically stimulates your endorphins. I don’t know about that but I do know that for an hour my hatred of my Boot Camp instructor gives my emotional overload a new target of obsession.

3- I made a very adult decision last night to NOT buy a brownie and drink the fancy beer that is store housed in my fridge – even though I wanted it badly. I have never been an emotional eater or drinker so I thought I shouldn’t start now, one less thing to discuss with the head shrinker.  Even though I was able to fend off the urge to engage my digestive system to numb out my head, I did hit up Zappos and bought four pairs of shiny black 4” heels. Don’t judge readers, I’m SICK…. I have to self soothe somehow.

However even after laying all this powerful groundwork I still  find myself slowly releasing big soft heavy wet tears onto my desktop each time I read a loving text, email, and/ or Facebook comment from my so supportive pals. Crap I don’t even need that sentimental stimulus; I was tearing up at the Korean deli yesterday afternoon ordering a tuna wrap. NOBODY should be crying when ordering a tuna wrap, that is most pathetic. Now I am totally regretting that brownie decision, a brownie would never allow such a public display of unhappiness.

Time To Call In A Professional

A month ago after my fifth close friend gentle suggested, “Maybe you should talk to somebody?” I actively began researching my health insurance’s mental health coverage. For about 10 months my usually sunny disposition has been slightly veiled in gray and I have taken to silently sobbing at my desk – that’s never a good sign. Mix that all up with yesterday’s direct blow to my heart and head and we have a perfect storm of emotional devastation.

I can’t ignore it anymore or continue to burden my supportive friends, I have to make the call and get my head back in gear. I reviewed my insurance website and after becoming increasingly overwhelmed by the “Find a Physician” tool I decided to choose my therapist in the same manner as I chose all of my other physicians; Female, Upper East Side, and Jewish last name. I have a short list of three candidates and fingers crossed one will have space in her schedule for my crazy ass.

I’m not sure what to say when I call, do I just say “Hey…. I think I’m broken, can your doctor help me?” Swason told me last night that I shouldn’t feel anxious about making the call cause the receptionist probably gets newbie calls like mine all the time. Swason also suggested that I may want to lead with “Hi, I’m a middle aged single woman living in New York City and I’m sad”, that way I get ‘fast tracked’. She also she reminded me that I’m not gonna be telling the doctor anything she hasn’t heard before, I’m not the MOST fucked up woman in this city. How does Swason know all these truths? She constantly amazes me.

Since Swason has been my lead therapist for the past several years I was hoping she could send my new Doc. her outline for getting me back on track:

1. Tell me I’m an idiot as I enter the room

2. Instruct me to drink at least a half bottle of wine

3. Listen to my problem

4. Tell me I’m an idiot (again)

5. Instruct me to “Kick (insert offending person’s name) in the head!!”

Unfortunately Swason did not acquiesce to my request; however I’m rather certain that she will still imbue me with copious amounts of wine on Monday nights even after my head is properly shrunken by a professional.

Lastly Swason suggested that I re-title my Blog “Just Call me Shirley” considering that the origin of the title “Want My Slaw” is a due to a long ago conversation with the Invisible Man. Why “Just Call me Shirley”? I have NO CLUE, but at the moment it was suggested it seemed very reasonable – it is under consideration.

Abracadabra

How do you make someone disappear from your life? How many contacts and messages and emails and photos must you delete before they are totally erased? With modern technology there is always one more step, one more “saved” addressed that just won’t go away after pressing that huge X in the upper corner. Each time I press it, each time I “confirm deletion” my heart breaks off another piece.

How long does it take for my throat not to tighten when I see that name in my “Most Contacted” or “Recommended Recipients” lists, and will it hurt even more when the name fades away to join the pile of invisible “Unused Contacts”?

There must be a service someplace that can wipe an entire system – a full history of a person’s existence in one’s life so that you can really have a clean slate. But then is that really what I want? If someone approached me this very minute and offered to take all these electronic memories away for five bucks, would I pay them? Or is there something in the back of my head that wants just one little corner of this person to exist , someplace hidden in my phone or my Gmail so that when I trip over it 10 years from now I smile and remember all the perfect beauty and hearty laughs.

Maybe it’s too early to empty my recycle bin….. I’ll do it tomorrow.

Still Remember Me?

Has it really been 8 months since I have blogged – WTF?  I knew my shrinking size would be the demise of my funny – DAMN YOU BODY!! So for all of you that need a refresher in the life of G here is your way overdue update:

Men – NONE. Cookie is getting married on Labor Day and I refuse to attend the shin dig without a date. My only requirements are; looks good in a suit and is very charming not only towards me but to all other guests seated at our table. EXTRA bonus if he can dance, but that is not a deal breaker. He can use that time off the dance floor to ogle me and patiently await my return with a fresh G&T in hand. Because of this looming event on my manless horizon Cookie instructed me to re-up my Match.com paid membership and start chumming the waters. For the past 3 months I did just that – I wrote and responded and even went on some very awful dates with filthy socially awkward clueless men. I did however have ONE – no TWO lovely dates…. but we never made it to three. But I had my FIRST 2^nd date EVER! Yes friends, this 41 year old women has finally popped her 2^nd date cherry, sure took long enough. Anyways the 3 month subscription expired last week and I’m not sure if I am up for it again. It is emotionally challenging and gut wrenching, especially when I sent out over 130 emails and NEVER received a response. The only men I met where ones who contacted me first – beggars can’t be choosers.

Here is a good one:

Health – My Thyroid is doing its thing (thanks to meds) and my year end physical was stellar! My GP is astounded by my weight loss; she said she has never seen anything like it. In the year since I’ve been medicated I’ve dropped 49 lbs. with NO change in lifestyle. If you add that to the amount I lost while in grad school from the overproduction of stress hormone I’m at  - 69lbs. My body is still morphing and it is difficult at times to see my reflection in the mirror and accept this alien person as “ME”.
In addition because of the drop in weight my once TIGHT skin is now saggy and wrinkly. My legs, arms and middle look like I’ve been soaking in the tub too long, so….. yeah…. I am dreading the summer. The winter was fine, in clothes everything looks good, but now I am terrified and embarrassed and a bit grossed out by my body. THANKS NATURE for continuing to screw with my head. ALSO with less fat on my legs my veins became very pronounced so for the past 3 months I’ve been undergoing vascular surgery to make me less blue and more pink. Oh and just for fun I hadTWO cancer scares in the fall – oh boy.

Work – What once was a den of solitude and joyful bliss shared with two brilliant co-workers is now a prison cell overflowing with ineptitude and stupidity.

LONDON 2012! – ahh the shining light in my life, the London Olympics. Thank goodness for the Royals, the spirit of community and humanity and for my old British mate who is loaning my mother and me his London flat for a week. Our event tickets are ordered (we added diving and beach volleyball to our already amazing score of Opening Ceremonies), rain pants and slickers purchased, flights booked and to top it all off I have arranged for a tour of the Downton Abbey Castle! Oh London 2012 how you get me through these trying times.

Who Am I?

I mean, for reals, I look in the mirror and I’m all “Who is this person”? The update on the weight loss/ screw you Hashimoto's I’m doing the work around on you – is that since mid January I’ve dropped 37 pounds – wholly WHAT!? There has been some tweaking of my prescription after Hashimoto kicked it up a notch. You know sometimes a body that’s been broken for 40 years just does not take kindly to changing its ways, but as of last week my blood work was super fine. I’ve gone from looking into the mirror at the gym and thinking, hmmmmm I’m not this round in REAL life to staring in wonder at my square shoulders and shrinking waist and thinking…. Actually not thinking, it’s a total brain fuck.

None of my clothes fit, they are all about 3 sizes too big.  I know that may seem really cool to most of you BUT I have a HUGE wardrobe with tons of really nice things and nothing to wear. Work trousers that I wore just 9 months ago that fit so close to my hips I sewed the pockets shut so they wouldn’t bulge fell OFF last week when I tried them on. I ended up emptying my closet of all pants/ jeans/ skirts and dresses that were purchased any time prior to July. My bras are pathetic, well actually my bras are outstanding, my boobs are underwhelming, and good lord my ass!  What happened back there?  I’ve bought a few new bras and 2 new pairs of paints, but it is kinda stressing me out thinking about the expense of a whole new wardrobe. What I need now is a Sugar Daddy to support my shopping spree.

I still have not felt any physical changes; it’s all psychological and emotional. I am really pissed off at every doctor over the previous 39 years of my life who decided instead of diagnosing a genetic autoimmune disorder to guilt me, instill poor body image and lecture me about my dooming obesity and  pre -  “whatever” condition they decided to fling at me as a medical scare tactic. FYI – there is no such thing as a PRE illness, either you are ill or you or not. I can’t TELL you how many times my old GP told me, “You are PRE diabetic” until one day I asked, “How bad is my sugar level?” her answer, “It’s fine, in the normal range BUT at your weight you are pre-diabetic” THAT MAKES NO SENSE! I guess I could be pre- anything, I’m a woman who grew up on Long Island and lots of women from LI have breast cancer so go ahead, diagnose me with pre-breast cancer, no not that I HAVE cancer but…. you know it’s all the same.  

 My other ‘thing’ that just recently has been screwing with my head is being called…. Beautiful. Like really sincerely labeled beautiful. The other day a friend flung that word at me, out of the blue, totally random with no pretext and I cried (I’m welling up just typing this). It’s so F’ed up cause I can be called a fat piece of shit and walk away with my head held high with sass, but beautiful, it broke me down.

I saw Swason the other day and she was shocked at my appearance, and I have to admit, so am I. She left for tour and made me promise to stop shrinking, I will try. Also another friend informed me that I can really ONLY hold onto my fat girl kick ass personality for 2 more dress sizes then it’s Bye Bye raucous funny girl and hello vapid introverted boring chick, that’s just the rules… crap!

Unbelievable

Unfortunately my contentment does not make for good blogging. Remember my good ol’ days filled with worries and uncertainty? Damn those were some meaty blog posts. Now all seems to be in balance, job is swell, heath is getting on track, and a general sense of bliss has infiltrated my being – and being tan ain’t bad for my gleeful soul either. However even with all this jolly goodness there will always be something stuck in my craw, so go ahead and file this under, “same tune different day”, it’s the issue of my weight/health/weight loss.

After finally being diagnosed with a genetically faulty thyroid and prescribed drugs to engage the metabolic process I have very easily dropped close to 26 lbs in 7 months. People congratulate me, but really I have done NOTHING except take my meds and produce blood samples on a regular basis. I’ve always been active, I’ve never been a junk food addict, food hoarder, binge eater, etc… it’s just I have ALWAYS been heavy.

Now that it has been proven that my weight is NOT a product of what I do but is in fact due to a lack of naturally produced thyroid hormones, acquaintances who float into my life refuse to release their assumptions regarding my weight (or the weight of all fat people I assume). They still believe, even after I explain the genetic auto immune disease that’s been attacking my thyroid for 40 years, that my weight loss MUST be the result of finally living a “healthy lifestyle” – huh what? NO it is because I am on medication that is making my body work like a normal person, and by the way non medical personnel what’s with the assumption that I have not lived a “healthy life style” in the past?

These transient experts in weight gain/ loss refuse to accept the fact that not all fat people are tragic souls to be pitied, humiliated, and harassed for lack of motivation and control. Again and again these commentators retort with, “Are you sure it is the medication, I mean you ARE going to the gym now?” Yes I go to the gym now but I went to the Gym for the past 10 years (when employed) and I haven’t changed my diet at all, but still they refuse these facts and nudge… “No really what ‘plan’ are you on? I’m really trying to lose weight and I want to know your secret.” So again, let me BLOW your minds with this CRAZY truth, I’m a person who is fat because of a disease NOT because of “choices”. So as to this ‘secret plan’…. Ummm it’s the plan where my body works just like yours. Maybe I should ask them why THEY are overweight?

To prove my point further, for 5 – 6 weeks this summer my meds stopped working, I kept working out and eating my usual diet and my weight loss plateaued. Doc. ran two series of blood tests, tweaked my prescription, and within 7 days of new meds I dropped 2.8 lbs. I know this isn’t a real scientific experiment but it seems rather clear that no meds = no weight loss, meds= weight loss.

I’m just happy that my body is chemically balanced and is working like all bodies should. The weight loss is a fun side perk, even though my boobs are now feeling the brunt of this loss, and getting complements on how I look is always appreciated (at any size) but what is pissing me off is this constant commenting by random people who feel the urge to congratulate me for “finally making healthy choices”. It’s like a giant “I Told You So” – how about I told YOU so. I told YOU, collective world of fat shamers and body harshers, that I do the things people should do to have a body that works but mine just didn’t, mine was broken and anything I could do didn’t matter. Now it is fixed, and it’s working, and this is what it looks like. There is no egregious lack of self restraint here, no wealth of bad choices, no sloth like non-activity, there is NOTHING that you have been brainwashed to believe that ALL fat people choose to do/ not do, because as we all know Fat is a choice for every fat person, we are the same anyways. I didn’t chose this body, this was the body that was given to me, and it’s cool, I like this body and now it is changing but ONLY because my motor is humming. One day maybe the motor will cool down and my body will change again, and ya know what, that’s cool too.