When my body is still…

It is your voice I hear whispering in my ear.

It is your body I feel pressing gently against mine.

It is your kiss I imagine on my lips.

It is you my arms long to hold.

It is you I wish to see when my eyes open in the morning and close in the evening.

It is you who consumes my heart now and always.

I said I no longer felt the need to share in this space but I found a problem.

The words I am withholding from this space are overflowing the space in my mind.

Just because the I announce I have nothing more to say does not mean there is nothing to say.

I am returning to this space because I can not find another place I am comfortable enough to release my words.

I have tried to start other blogs, a new beginning, a fresh start, new stories, a different spin on my moments.

The truth is, this blog holds my history.

This space is my warm blanket that I want to curl up with at night, squeeze, and rub between my fingers until I fall asleep.

I have you noticed I have not been around my blog lately?

I have considered the reason is, I have been busy. But there is always time?

I have considered the reason is, nothing exciting going on. But there is plenty of excitement.

I have considered the reason is, nobody is reading anymore. But there are still hits to the site.

I have considered the reason is, I have lost my creative mojo. But believe me…I got my mojo.

I have considered the reason is, I am filtering my writing given the readers. But when have I ever done that?

I have concluded the reason is, I have not been around this blog because this blog has served its purpose.

I started this blog as a release.  A release of my heart in a way I could not do verbally. A way to share the depth of my being which no one realized existed.

The pain, the confusion, the doubt, the uncertainty, all feelings I never knew how to express flowed from my heart through my fingertips to the pages of this blog.

Some would say the sharing was too much. I say, it was the only way I knew how.

I no longer hurt in the ways I used too.

I no longer feel the need to hide a part of myself from the world.

I no longer need to privately bleed because my friends and my family have shown me how powerful unconditional love can be.

I am closing this chapter.

I am ending this blog.

I still have the desire to write and I will.

I have brainstormed two new blogs that will become a platform to write about other interests in my life.

Thank you to that special group of blogger gals who offered guidance along the way.

Thank you to H for finding me in this space.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for sharing my journey.

Cheers!

 

This is short story I wrote. Oddly enough, after all the stories I have written about on my blog sharing this one makes me the most nervous. Sharing this story makes me nervous because I am writing it for the reader rather than for me. I would love to hear your feedback; good – bad – or indifferent.

*****

It was a simple dress, no frills or laces. The collar was high circling the girls’ neck and a one inch tie attached to the front of the dress wrapped around to meet in a floppy bow in the back.

The girl had a gentle smile with a quiet voice to match.  Her eyes were brown, not like mud, they had a shimmer like the reflection off a hot cup of black coffee on a sunny day.  Her Native American heritage was recognizable in her skin color and facial features.

The school day was like any other. She was standing in the school yard surrounded by boys sprawled out along the walkway playing marbles.  The area around her seemed faded in black and white compared to the sky blue color of the dress.

This was the day of the annual eye exam and lice check.  All the school children lined up in a straight line as they waited to enter the nurse’s office. Standing behind her, I marveled at how perfectly her ponytails were situated on her head. White ribbons were wrapped her perfectly combed hair into ponytails held just above her ears and parallel to her shoulders. Even in ponytails, her hair was long, falling well below her waistline.  I can remember thinking it must have taken her mother ages to smooth all of the bumps and creases then pulling the hair tight to each side leaving a straight line down the middle of her scalp.

One by one the children entered the nurse’s office. At one station, we were asked to hold a popsicle stick with a round white paper over our eye while reading the letters on the wall several paces away.  At the second station, a woman with gloves would grab our head pushing it toward our chest than shift her fingers through our hair. “NEXT”, she would call out as she was giving the poor victim a push toward the door signaling that their turn was over and they could lift their head and move along to class.

At some point during the day the girl in the blue dress was called back to the nurse’s office.  She made her way through the row of desks from the back of the room. The entire classroom of children turned to watch her; she wore the embarrassment of having attention called to her on her face in shades of reds.

The girl rejoined the class on the playground after lunch where the teasing ensued. One tormenting classmate ran about informing the other school children that the girl in the blue dress had lice. The bulk of the class could not be bothered by the raucous, they seemed far more focused on the game of marbles then the spreading of a rumor.

The girl in the blue dress began to cry. She stood perfectly still unable to muster the defenses to protect her feelings from her classmate.

All the school children were gathered by their teacher and led like a family of ants back to the classroom.  The girl in the blue dress sat at her desk muffling her tears.

The typically cheerful teacher sternly called the tormentor to the front of the class. She stood before her classmates frightened and embarrassed, every eye in the classroom focused on her. She now realized how the girl in the blue dress must have felt standing in the school yard being teased.  She tearfully apologized for the teasing and hurt she caused.

Standing before her classmates for what seemed like ages, the teacher asked how she would feel if it had been her that was teased. She had no time to answer before the teacher placed her hand on her shoulder guiding her toward her desk then launching into a lesson about kindness and friendship.

 The girl in the blue dress sat quietly with her head down.

The tormenting classmate sat quietly wishing she could disappear.

I wonder if the girl in the blue dress remembers that day as often and clearly as I do?

A product of divorced parents, my brother and I spent every other weekend with my dad – when he wasn’t busy. Our weekend visits were punctuated with a dreadfully long Sunday evening. The time between dads nap and the end of 60 minutes was the cue that our time was nearly up.

I don’t remember much about our visits. I have memories of random moments like the time my dad drove a huge motor home on the edge of a steep and narrow dirt road, with his family in tow. Or the time, I sat on my dad’s lap driving his car down a winding mountain road after an evening party. Or the time, we went to the Park-n-Swap and I became so overheated I puked in a paper bag in dads super fast Monte Carlo. My brother was sitting next to me freaking 0ut…not concerned about me but concerned I might damage the car in some way, as if it would be his one day.

The older we got the greater the time gap got between visits. The tide had turned and it became our busy social lives that dictated visits rather the mandate of a custody agreement.

By the time we were able to drive ourselves, the weekend visits would become meetings for dinner or overnight stays at his home up north.

There was a time in my life that I did not speak to my father for nearly two years. This was about the time I was old enough to cast judgement and blame for someone else pain.  Eventually, I grew tired of being angry and my relationship with my father became normal, well as normal as it could be really.

I lived my life – he lived his. We gathered for holidays, birthdays, various other “we better see each other now” moments.

I am attempting to paint a picture for you. A picture of father and daughter who did not communicate. Weekend visits and random dinner meetings are not conducive for deep meaningful conversations about the people we are or or the people we want to be. These occasions where certainly  no place for discussing  the random men/boys who came in and out of my life, like ships in the night.

I only ever introduced two of the men I dated to my dad.  Oddly enough, at some delusional point each of those relationships, I thought I would have married both.  I think it was no surprise to those around me that those relationships ended.

I never thought I was missing anything in my relationship with my dad nor did I ever feel the need to gain his approval about my life.  Actually, I thought it was my brother who suffered from my father’s absence.

It was not until I started working with my father that I began to realize I did want his approval. For the first time in my life, I wanted him to acknowledge my accomplishments, recognize my strengths, and take a genuine interest in my life.  I wanted all of this but I was not giving an inch. He certainly could not expect me to be an open book at this stage of my life. He would have to earn the privileged to know me.

Any reasonable person can see my one-sided approach to this relationship is bound to leave us both a bit confused. As my personal life became less confusing to me I can only assume it became more confusing to him.

Enter the beautiful H into my life. A wonderful person I actually want to share but can’t because I have built a wall around my world the only person unable to break the barrier…my dad.

Last week, H was in town for the weekend. We thought this might be a good opportunity to have THE conversation with my dad. I waffled back and forth, yes…no…yes…no…yes…no. I was not afraid of his reaction. My mom had basically told me he figured it out, then confirmed his suspensions by  asking probing questions, at a family event which I was not present because I was in Canada visiting H.  I don’t know why coming out to him was such a big deal.

Add a dose of one loving mingling mother unable to keep a secret even one minute longer.

Then it happened.  The weekend arrived. Dad entered my office, extended a dinner invitation to which I explained the family was getting together and he should join us, dad left my office with dinner plans.

I inform the family that Dad would be joining us for dinner.  My brother injects a little humor with a message sharing his thoughts of who might have more butterflies, me or my dad.

My mother, H, kiddo, and I sitting on a bench outside the restaurant. I am sweating, not because it is hot but because I so nervous. WHY? Why am I so nervous. Brother, sister-in-law, and kiddos arrive. We are seated on the patio at two round tables pushed together to accommodate our growing family. By this time, I am two beers in, the napkin in front of me is wrapped so tight around my finger I am losing circulation. H is seated to my left, then mom, then an empty seat directly across from me – this will be dad’s seat-, then my son,  my sister-in-law, the new baby, my brother, my nephew and back to me again.

Dad arrives. The way I am seated I can see him walk all the way to the table. “Oh shit…he is here…he is here”. He scans the table. He greets everyone. I think he may have greeted H but I can not be sure.

“Another beer please. A tall one!”, I say to the waitress.

Dad orders a Captain and Coke.  Two, I think.

Before dad can get settled in, mom dives in to grab his ear, hiding behind her menu.

“What is all the whispering about” , I say.

“Oh nothing”, my says with a big guilty grin on her face.

It was at this point, I realized this particular moment has been orchestrated by my mother.

My brother at the end of table is waving his knife through the air with a big grin on his face – attempting to cut the tension, he says. My dad engages my son in conversation. I continue to strangle the napkin around my finger.

More awkward jokes we all pretend not to hear or understand.  The elephant (Consuela referred too) is officially squashing us!

And then, for no reason at all, I blurt out…

“H and I ARE MAKING CHEESE”

The table roars, my father looks dumbfounded, realizing there is a joke in there some where that he is not privy too, and returns to his conversation about Pirates of the Caribbean with my son.

“MORE DRINKS PLEASE” — the waitress is doing well tonight.

Several minutes later dad suggests that we have a family weekend at his home up north in July. H will be with us for summer so I gently say that I will have company in town that weekend. I go on to say that, H will be at all family functions from now on. And, with that statement my dad said…

“Okay, let’s just get this out the way”

And, in his best Marlin Brando mobster voice (as he loves to do) he said…

“H, Welcome to the family!”

He then looked at me and said…

“I don’t care. The only thing I care about is the smile on your face!”

I am certain there are a dozen other stories, jokes, and funny moments that I could tell you from that night, but that exchange lifted a weight from my shoulders I can’t explain.

I never realized how much I DID need my fathers approval.

I reflect back on what my ex-friend Oprah said, “Everyone wants to be heard, everyone wants to be seen, everyone wants to be validated”.

My dad validated me that night and I think I may have validated him in small way too.

The rest of the evening, we laughed, we joked, and I am sure we disrupted every other person in the restaurant. On that particular evening, I did not care who we disrupted…

This is my family; my parents love me, and although they are divorced, they can sit at the same table with big grins on their faces, my crazy brother can maul my girlfriend, my sister-in-law frequently sits back shaking her head at the madness, and the kids….hey where are the kids…

That is it people. I came out to my dad.

I look forward to many family gatherings. No secrets.

Oh, but if you see my dad don’t mention this blog ;o)

Cheers!

*Photo courtesy of the Oprah empire!

We all have moments in our life that are burned into our memories.  I bet most of you can answer all these questions:

Where were you when JFK was shot?

Where were you when the space shuttle Challenger exploded?

Where were you when OJ Simpson was being chased down the Interstate 405?

Where were you when the news broke about the Rodney King beating in Los Angeles?

Where were you when Princess Diana died?

Where were you heard about the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001?

The list could go on and on, but today, I want to ask;

Where were you when Oprah Winfrey aired her last show after 25 years on the air?

I could not watch the broadcast at its normal 3 pm air time, so I snuggled on the couch two hours later with tissues in hand.

I will be honest and say that I expected every single one of the 300+ audience members to walk away with a million dollars. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that it would just be her and her millions of viewers around the world.

Her words penetrated my heart bringing tears to my eyes multiple times.

I sat in silence for a few moments after the show ended, the silence only being broken by the cheers of my son whooping and hollering that he never had to listen to Oprah again.

During the show, Oprah looked directly into the camera; an email posted at the bottom of the screen, she said, “This is my new email address. This is my personal email address. I want to stay connected to you. I want to hear from you. I will be reading as many of your emails as possible. If you get an email from this address it is coming directly from me.”

“Wow”, I thought to myself. “That is impressive, but I am sure she will receive millions of emails. There is no way she will be able to read them all, let alone respond.”

I did not think much more about it, but then, a couple of days later, I felt compelled to email her.  I don’t know why. The thought just popped into my head. As Oprah said during her last show, these are whispers. These are signs. LISTEN and RESPOND.  So I did.

I sent a very short email congratulating Oprah on her last show. I explained that I had been a viewer off and on since the beginning.  I went on to say that there were two shows that impacted my life the most.

The first, a show titled “Wives confess they are gay”, which aired in November 2007. I was not watching Oprah on a regular basis at that time. It was a friend that alerted me to watch that day. At the time, I was knee-deep in my relationship with The Lobster. The show exposed me to a scenario that I thought I was the only one living. It was that show which pushed me to read more, find more information, and to    learn about other stories like mine.  If not for this show, I would have never begun to question the Lobster, I would have never thought there was a possibility of me living openly gay in a happy relationship, and I would have continued on ignorantly dating a married woman.

The second show that impacted me so greatly was the last show.  There were so many powerful statements. These are a few of my favorites.

“Nobody but you is responsible for your life. You are responsible for your life. What is your life? What is all life? What is every flower, every rock, every tree? Energy. And you’re responsible for the energy you create for yourself, and you’re responsible for the energy that you bring to others.”

“There’s a difference between thinking you deserve to be happy and knowing that you are worthy of being happy. Your being alive makes worthiness your birthright. You alone are enough.”

“I’ve talked to nearly 30,000 people on this show, and all 30,000 had one thing in common — they all wanted validation. … They want to know, do you hear me? Do you see me? Does what I say mean anything to you?”

I did not want to drown Oprah with one of my lengthy stories. Believe me, my email was no more than 50 words.

I signed off by simply saying “Thank you”.

I never expected her to read it. I never expected a return email.

The next day, to my surprise, there was an email in my inbox from Oprah Winfrey. I thought, “GET OUT”.

I opened the email to find a very generic thank you and lengthy ramble about the OWN network. Okay, I can accept this, I mean really, this is Oprah “Freakin” Winfrey.  No big deal.

The next day, another email from Oprah, maybe this one is not an auto-reply.  Nope, but guess what, after her vacation, Oprah is going to be hard at work on the OWN network.

Now, I am a little irritated. I would have rather not received anything from Oprah leaving the illusion in my mind that maybe one day while sitting on her porch in Santa Barbara she would see my email.

Today, I received another email from Oprah. Guess what? She is on vacation eating White Truffle pizza but she wanted to remind me to watch a new documentary that will be airing on the OWN network tomorrow night.

GEEZ OPRAH!  I thought we were going to be friends but you only seem to want me for my viewership of the OWN network.

Oprah, I don’t want to be your friend anymore. I decided a long time ago to expel the users from my life. I think you are using me.

Hrrumph!

On day 2 of our long weekend visit to Canada, we decided to keep our Geocaching adventures a little closer to home.

There is a river that runs along the Edmonton downtown area, which until this trip, we had only seen frozen over.  Now, the trees are lush, the grass is a thick green, and the river water is shimmering from the sunshine.

These pictures were all taken in and around Victoria Golf Course along the North Saskatchewan River.

This was the path which led us from Victoria park directly onto the golf course. I was surprised that we could just walk amongst the golfers. I demanded that we exit the golf course. As a golfer myself, I felt like we were intruding.

After we realized that we were on the south side of the golf course, and the cache we were searching for, we drove around to the top of the hill. This shot is overlooking the golf course. The river is just below the hill located in the upper left of this photo. I am not sure why I did not get a photo of the river. Kiddo decided he wanted pummel down the hill. It was quite steep so I stopped him there.

This is a shot of the first half of the stairs we traveled down to get to the biking/walk path. The weather was beautiful and there were tons of people out for walks, running, and biking.

Nature shot.

H and the little man make their way into the bush to find the cache. This one was well disguised as a piece of tree. We did not realize that we found until we got back home and looked up the clues on the internet.

What goes down must go back up? Well in this case anyway. ARGH! My calves are killing me today!

We really enjoyed being outside during this trip. It is amazing how well the landscape bounces back after such harsh winter months.

Cheers!

(p.s. If you are keeping track of the “Dad knows I am gay story line”….I kept my head down and made no eye contact as I arrived at the office. He popped in to say he missed me this weekend and that my mother is a poor secret keeper. We danced around the subject. Neither of us showed our hand. dun…dun..dun…dun….)

Not much of a weekend really, eh!

Well, actually, the Geocaching was eventful.

We decided to head North for the long weekend to spend time with H and to explore Canada without freezing our butts off.  To see the once frozen white landscape so green and lush was a beautiful sight.  The weather settled in around the low 70′s, the sun was warm, and the sky was blue scattered with calm white clouds.

We get a lot of sunshine in Arizona, so I am accustomed to long summer nights but Canada summer nights are endless.  We arrived at 8:30 in the evening with the sun still high in the sky.  The sunset sometime around 9:30 pm and in the 10 o’clock hour there was a still a slight glow in the sky.

We made the most of our days without rushing ourselves. We mapped out several Geocaching adventures taking the necessary precautions to avoid a repeat of our first Geocache trip. I purchased a Magellan GPS system designed specifically for Geocaching, plus we downloaded street directions and brought the regular GPS system.

We selected our caches based on the surrounding areas.  We found several lakes within an hour or two of our home base which we thought would be a great way to see more areas of Alberta. H was the lead navigator here area a few pictures from our first cache.

A llama farm along the road side.

Unable to take the car down the road we started off on foot until this road got very muggy with killer mosquito’s dive bombing us. There was no lake in sight and realized this could not be the way to the treasure.

To the best of our knowledge this is Lister Lake.  Someone stole the lake???

This bench was positioned perfectly for viewing the “lake”

It was engraved. I thought that was sweet.

After finding the cleverly hidden cache kiddo opens the container to find a baggy of odds and ends.

We logged our name then got the heck of dodge because the evil mosquito’s were still feasting on us.

This was my favorite picture of the day. As we drove along a country road, there was what seemed like a well-organized junk yard.

The specialty, dead doodle bugs or beetle bugs or VW bugs.

This is where we lunched. It reminded us of the main house at the Bates Motel.  This was one of two buildings off the side of the road. The plaque read, at one time this was a school-house then turned tea house in 1992. It looks very new so I am not sure I buy this little bit of history but you never know in Canada.

After finishing lunch around 4:30 pm, we still had plenty of sunlight to find the remaining two caches we had planned. We could not find either one but the scenery was nice and we learned that Canadians don’t have real lakes.

When we returned home for the evening, I checked my face book to find a note from my mother. You see, last week my father asked to have a family BBQ. Knowing that I would be out-of-town, I simply stated that the little man and I had other plans and would be unable to attend. All week-long, my father attempted to squeeze the details from me but I was tight-lipped.

In my absence, it seems my father was persistent with the rest of my family inquiring about my whereabouts. This is how I am told it all went down.

Father (to brother & mother): Where is my Tammy girl?

Brother & Mother (turn to look at each other): I don’t know.

Father: Yes you do. She would not go anywhere without telling you.

Father: Well, I think Tammy is in Canada. I think Tammy has found a partner in H. Why would she not tell me this? I love my daughter no matter what?

Mother: Well, that is quite an assumption. I think you need to have a talk with your daughter.

My first reaction was denial saying “He probably thinks we are partners…like business partners” – “Maybe he thinks we are just really good friends”.

I know the truth. Tomorrow I will face it when I see my father at the office.

To be continued with details of our day 2 Canadian Geocaching adventure…Oh and the final details on the – Dad knows I am gay story.

Cheers!

I have always been person with ideas. I love the energy that swirls around in the air when ideas are being exchanged, when dreams are making their way to reality, and knowing the possibilities are endless.

Ironically, I have a huge fear of failure, yet I don’t fear  implementing a new idea.  I do think my fear of failure keeps me from jumping head first with all my might, which could potentially keep me from taking an idea over to the top. Regardless, I never stop dreaming, planning, creating, wondering, and knowing that if I really want it I can make it happen.

Here are just a few of my dreams that I would like to turn into reality…

1. I want to write (ahem, finish writing a book) and have said book published.
2. I want to start an event planning company (note: I started a company in my 20′s but I lacked the knowledge I have now to really make it work).
3. I want to start a non-profit agency that provides scholarships to kids from single parent homes.
4. I want to host a summer international travel program for students to help expose them to the wonders of the world.
5. I want to make cheese. Yes, cheese. I want to open a specialty cheese store with an open patio for wine & cheese tastings.

What dreams do you have that you would like to turn into reality?

Cheers!

If you have not heard, the Oprah show is retiring at the end of this month.  I gave up watching Oprah years ago. There was always way too much crying, yelling, and blah, blah, blahing…

However, being the pop culture fanatic that I am, I could not miss the end of era, so I have been TIVOing the shows this season.  Beginning with the episode where screeching audience went ape shit at the announcement …

“YOU ARE GOING TO AUUUUSSTTTRAAAALLIIIAAA”

This season each episode of the show has really been outstanding. They have pulled out all the stops to make the show memorable.

One of the recent episodes was about Oprah viewers who have lost over 100 pounds. They showed a couple of clips from past shows in which Oprah’s trusted trainer Bob Greene said;

“Being overweight is not about a love of food. There is always a deeper root”.

(Ok, so I paraphrased because I can only give so much of my attention to Oprah when there are pressing games of Words with Friends happening. )

Anyway, the statement really stuck with me.

I have always struggled with my weight. I can remember going on my first diet in high school. It was my senior or junior year.  At that time it was only 20 pounds but it changed my confidence level and it changed how others viewed me.

I remained slender (never thin) through about my sophomore year of college. My next memory of my weight would be of me and my roommate trying new diets and exercise.  I always needed to lose about 20-30 pounds.

Then around 22-23 years old, I hit a rough patch. I can remember being terribly depressed.  I had finished college and was feeling lost and unsuccessful. I was incredibly stressed about being uncertain as to where my life and career where headed.  In retrospect, I realize how silly it is to feel unsuccessful at the ripe ole’ age of 23, but nonetheless this is how I was feeling.

By this time, I was living on my own, no roommate to keep me in check.  My social life had diminished. I came home from work. I went to work.  I spent a lot of time on my own.  I ate my way through my emotions and left myself with a 40-50 pound mountain of pure blubber.

Somewhere in the middle of all those emotions, I subscribed to the uber healthy diet of 3 Slim Fast Shakes and lots of fruit-a day-diet. I dropped the weight in no time.  Unable to sustain the diet, my weight came back the minute I removed the straw and added a fork to my meal times.

Still feeling a lot of self-induced pressure to make something of my life, I returned to graduate school.

It was there that I met a friend that would have the biggest impact on my life (with the exception of my son).

Immediately, I felt drawn to her. We formed a fast friendship. She gave me the self-confidence I needed and I believe she enjoyed the very loyal friendship I gave to her (by loyal, I mean loyal like a puppy, very adoring & annoying to those watching).  Our friendship was intense. It was only later that I would learn the intensity was a result of my “crush” on her. This was the beginning of my self-realization.

It was through her that I met one on of my closest friends who would help me transform myself once again.

We lived in the same apartment complex and would work out together.  I was working from home at the time, so some days I would head to the gym first thing in the morning and then work out with my friend again in the afternoon. This was long before the days of counting the calories burned but if I had to guess, I must have been burning at least 1000 calories a day. I returned to my Slim Fast and fruit diet with less intensity, allowing myself a balanced meal or two when I desired.

The pounds dropped quickly and I was feeling good about myself my weight.

As my struggle with my sexually surfaced and days in grad school behind me, I sought the help of a therapist in hopes of sorting out the depression I was feeling.

I sat in a firm itching chair in a stark white office, an emotionless woman on the other side of the desk asking me why I was visiting her.  I explained, I was having thoughts about being gay and feeling very anxious about failing in my career.  She offered very little in the way of help making me feel stupid for feeling the way I was at the time.  I left her office never to return.

Several years passed.  A little spermy met one of my eggs and poof I was pregnant.

I ate my way through my pregnancy. I used it as an excuse to eat whatever I wanted and to be as lazy as I wanted to be.

After the birth of my son, I had a small burst of willpower to exercise but never really committed to it all the way. Two years later and several pounds heavier, I decided ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH. I marched into the nearest gym, signed up with a trainer, and never looked back.

I worked my ass off. I had 80 pounds to lose and this time I committed to do it the right way. I exercised daily and ate healthfully.  I dropped 50 pounds then I met The Lobster. After a year of having a secret relationship, it began to take its toll on me and I headed straight back to the ice cream bucket.

First it was just a 20 pound weight gain, but after the shit hit the fan and our relationship imploded, it came back fast and furious.

Now, here I sit, with an embarrassing 100 pounds of extra weight spread across my thighs, my belly, and my unrecognizable face. I go back to the comment: “There must be a deeper root”.

Honestly, I thought once I came out about my sexuality, I would instantly feel a burden lifted and the weight would magically shed from my body.  NOPE!

What is my deeper root?

Clearly, I am an emotional eater. I recognize this fact.

How do I tell the fat girl I see in the mirror that her emotions cannot be digested?

My weight is starting to takes its toll on my overall health. Visits to the doctor are now something I MUST do, not just schedule when it is convenient.

I am waiting for my ah-ha moment where it all clicks and I become a skinny biatch.

For now, I feel lucky that my petite and beautiful girlfriend has a fat girl fetish* but I wish to be better for me, for her,  and for my son.

*sigh*

*H will be mortified by this comment, “Fat Girl Fetish”.