It sucks when you’ve figured out that you’re not good enough. You were flying high for a moment, thinking all was good in the world, thinking you weren’t alone, that you had life under control. Then, something happens, and it turns it upside down. All those inferior thoughts come creeping back into your brain, inch by inch, you can feel them painfully make their way through your veins.
I feel so discouraged, after having a fourth child, I feel underwater, buried alive, unable to breath. I’ve started and stopped a healthy eating plan and work out routine a dozen times and now, I’m left, feeling defeated and fat. I sit here in my bathrobe, covered completely because I feel so completely vulnerable. I don’t want an inch of my skin showing. This coming from someone who freely prances around the house naked as the day I was born, and lay in bed, legs wide open, not a care in the world. But here I am, self conscious, feeling my droopy fat hang off my body in the most disgusting of ways. Knowing when I sit a certain way, my neck creates a chin that is so large, it rivals Fat Bastard from Austin Powers. I told my husband I felt like he didn’t want to have sex with me, and his response was, do you want to have sex with me? To which I replied, well, yeah. And in that moment, I felt degraded and humiliated. Obviously, the answer was no, no he doesn’t want to have sex with me. How could he? I mean, I have fat literally hanging off of my every inch, scars all over my body. I had a breast reduction and the scars it left me with cover my entire chest, including 6 inches into each of my sides. This extra scarring, left these horrendous gapping skin, that just folds over onto my body. I was humiliated at the doctor when I wasn’t able to see my surgeon and the doctor I saw told me I was just fat, if I lost some weight, that wouldn’t do that. That was 130 lbs (lighter) ago. Left more than physical scars. When I responded to my husbands question, I felt like Fat Monica from friends, giddy, knowing she was fat, but the joke is on her. Some days I feel pretty, because my hair and make up are done really nice, but then I catch a glimpse of myself in a window reflection or someone gets a picture of me and I’m reminded of how obese I am. I don’t feel obese in my head, I feel skinny. I walk around the house naked and act like I love my body, but my body hates me. I can feel every tinge of hate when it runs stabbing pain down my legs, flickering lightning strike pains into my feet and knees. When I was putting mascara on, I leaned over the vanity sink and my flappy stomach sort of rested on top of the counter. Mortifying. But a simple realization occurred. The stress and strain it took off my back having that literal weight lifted off of me was amazing. Suffering from chronic back pain my entire life, I’m no stranger to the effects of a bad back. I’ve done physical therapy, therapeutic massage, ibuprofen, everything. Massage at least lets me escape for a little while and makes me feel wonderful. It makes me rejuvenated. My husband keeps telling me to go to the doctor about it, but there really is nothing they can do. He tells me he doesn’t want me ending up in a wheelchair someday because of my bad back. Wake up call? Maybe, but again, how to start? One day, one bite, one step at a time. Sure…easier said than done…especially when I’m stressed, overwhelmed and made to feel like a failure.
After this discussion led to other things, my husband then proceeded to tell me how all of his friends basically hate me, because I’m such an overbearing bitch. Well, isn’t that nice? Now I feel worthless physically and emotionally. How am I supposed to ever look at them again? Thinking they think this of me? On top of thoughts of why in the hell is he still with me? If I’m that terrible, why? If I’m so fat, why? I took the one thing he loved about my body, and hacked it all to pieces. I’ve gained and lost over 200 lbs or more over the course of our relationship. In fact, I was married before him and that marriage ended because I got on the fat rollercoaster and never got off. And he was only 130 lbs and he couldn’t stand it. Even told me I disgusted him. I literally felt like I could break him in half and thought I might sometime.
I am falling apart. I have this fat hanging off me, scars everywhere, being obese, I’m put in a category with a higher incidence of getting cancer. I have to have a mole removed that looks suspicious. Just add that to the list of scars on my body, hoping it isn’t cancer at this point. At one time I thought about getting my first tattoo about scars and how they’re beautiful, but they aren’t. At all. They suck, they make me feel un-pretty. They make me feel gross and they make me self conscious. Some days I like the reminder that the scars have a story and the story is beautiful, but other days I look at them and stare at them in horror. What happened to my body? Where did it go? My husband tells me I had children and to give myself a break. But I don’t. I can’t.
My husband had the excuse of not having sex, being that I’m always sick. Like I have control over that. After I had our last baby, I had high blood pressure, which almost landed me back in the hospital, then I had major baby blues, where I was crying all the time. Then our baby had colic, which made me super depressed. Then I was afraid of getting a UTI, because the last time we had a baby I got a UTI that lasted for 5 months. So I waiting one month after the 6 week check up to make sure my pill was good and we didn’t need any other protection. Well, guess the fuck what? I got a UTI. No way! What the hell. another month later and I think it’s gone, but he’s right, it’s been a shit show. But like any of it was pleasant and like any of it I wanted to happen.
He brought up how damaging it was for him to undergo the IVF with me. Poking me all the time, all the appointments, everything he did, FOR ME. He has to point that out all the time. It was for me, he was fine with three kids, but I HAD TO HAVE ANOTHER ONE. Shame on me. I realize it was hard on him, not even a percentage of how hard it was on me, both emotionally and physically, but I get it. Why he’s waited until this moment a year later to tell me that baffles me.
I get in this dark space after we have a come to Jesus talk like that. My body hurts and I begin to tell myself all the things I won’t do anymore. I won’t call him, I won’t answer the phone or text him (because it sure seems he’s doing those things out of obligation, even though he claims he isn’t, actions speak louder than words), I won’t be naked in front of him, I will for real lose weight, I will not talk to him and bug him, or nag him or have really any contact with him at all. One word answers and a hollow shell. He asked what I was thinking and I told him I felt like retreating into my shell, and he snidely says, oh, like you already do anyways. Wow. How low I feel, and then I’m emotionally kicked down again. I’m struggling with everything. He has no idea. He makes rude comments about the house looking like shit, when I get the feeling he expects me to do it while I’m home, even though I’m busy with a fucking 4 month old baby. Like, sure, let me go ahead and scrub the floors and let her cry in the back ground. Not to mention the sheer amount of shit we have in our house, that doubles and triples every single day when our kids come home from school. Like what the hell am I supposed to do with it all. I sell it, I throw it away. It’s not a secret I like to buy stuff, especially right now, it makes me feel good. I wish I could adopt the one thing in, one thing out, rule, but it’s hard. Part of me wants another baby, because I don’t want to be done, but we are drowning now with four and with my health and age, going through the whole thing again, frankly scares the crap out of me. But because of that, I am trying to sell baby things as we are done with them, but some clothes and things, I don’t want to. My husband has declared he is done. He adamantly states he is done, he refuses to acknowledge anything else. It pisses me off.
Just today, I told my husband I wanted to take some time to take pictures of clothes to photograph to sell, and I was up in the baby’s room about 38 minutes before all hell broke lose downstairs, I hear screaming and yelling that I need to stop doing it and help out. I can’t even take care of business when I need to. I’m currently on maternity leave, and while the plan my job offers is incredibly generous, I now am in the range of pay where my pay is about a 1/4 what it was before. That is hard. I’m struggling. I’m trying to figure out where the money is going to come from to pay simple bills, like my student loans. That is why I’m selling this stuff. To pay for living right now. For those wondering, my husband and I keep our finances separate. It’s just easier. I don’t expect him to pay my student loans. But right now, things are rough. I go back to work in a month from today and while I’m dreading every single second of it, I’m looking forward to having money again.
The screaming and madness in our household right now has me embarrassed and ashamed. We don’t scream at each other, but we scream at the kids. They are terrible. We have lost control. 100%. I feel it in the neighbors short conversations with us, they can hear us yelling. Our houses are about 25 feet away. And with thin walls, no doubt they hear us. We are horrible parents sometimes. I am losing my mind with three boys. I don’t want to yell at them, I want to snuggle with them. The problem is, when they have exhausted us completely, that’s when they ask for snuggles and I am too fucking tired to do it. I feel like a horrible mom. My 7 year old has decided he wants to learn multiplication even though they don’t teach it until the next grade and my husband gives him the third degree grilling him as to why he wants to learn it. Why the hell does it matter? He wants to learn it and he’s excited about it. Keep his spark alive, don’t douse it in water. We are having legit behavioral issues in my two littlest boys, and one might be diagnosed with ADHD, they really all seem to fit the bill for that…does that mean they are just boys being boys or do they really have a problem. I’m lost.
I’m going to bed. Hopefully I’ll feel better about myself tomorrow morning.
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