Category: Call Me Crazy

Wherein I share my particular psychoses. Mostly food stuff, but also other crazies.

Call Me Crazy, Part 3

[continued from previous post]

Where were we? Ah, yes! I was disclosing, much to your surprise, that I have some difficulty biting my tongue. What did I call those people? Of course! Ignoramuses.

Let’s tune back in, shall we?

Apparently, female commenter #1 thought I was making light of the conversation.

Female commenter #1 responds: This is a serious issue, more more ppls are beecomn to obesed. N the reality is we know how hard it is to drop weight. N maybe ppl that are obesed can really go to the gym n work out, or walk for a longtime. We […] don’t need to focus on the ppl that r obesed instead we need to prevent it. I did a paper n grad school about child obesity n the numers were crazy. I am seeing way too many children over weight bc they don’t eat the proper food n they don’t exercise. Instead they spend hours playing video games n hours on a computer. Then they are sitting down majority of the time they r in school. Obeses is a high risk factor n is killing our ppl day after day. This topic keep on comn up but until we do something about it, it will just be another topic :(…. Ppl that struggle with obesity deal with depression n low self esteem, which can lead to suicide. So this is def a serious issue. GOOD POST [name redacted]….

You’ll be astounded, dear readers, to learn that I felt the need to respond. I wanted to inquire about which graduate school admitted a person who wrote like that, but I did not. I kept to the topic. (Do you feel that? Yes, that’s smug superiority oozing out of your screen.)

Me: Absolutely, obesity is a serious issue. But simplifying the cause to laziness is…well, lazy. And certainly not helpful. And while we’re at it, prejudiced and hurtful and, what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yes: ignorant.

Obesity has many causes. Read about ’em. Here’s a starter article for you:
http://www.downtoearth.org/health/nutrition/obesity-america

The next guy had a little different take.

Male commenter #3: [initial redacted] Money. while i agree that obesity is a problem, linking it to lazyness isn’t completely accurate. i don’t think the problem is lazyness, its motivation. i’m lazy, but i’m motivated to lose weight & be an overall better athelete & father. …obesity as a term is overrated anyway. back in Jan 2010 when i was @ 305,i was obese class III, now i’m class I @ 235. punch your info into that crap formula and see where you end up but be prepared for a shock. i have to get to 210 so i can be considered “overweight.” i anticipate hitting that weight on my bday. I really don’t consider myself obese, but if the numbers say so, then i guess i am. after taking [Brutus]‘s nutrition class back in Sept, i have a whole different outlook on ppl’s health. think about how many ppl you know that weigh 150lb, look like they’re @ the peak of fitness but are taking 30 pills per day just so they don’t have a heart attack, high blood pressure/sugar…. and look at all the tubs of fat like me, my brother & some of the other big dudes @ [CrossFit] that look like crap but can literally pull their own weight. whenever i see a bid guy/girl now, i stop and think about how i used to be in their shoes & wonder if i still would be in their shoes if i didn’t have the motivation i have today. c u saturday, we’re going to crush it!!!

Then The Linebacker weighed in. (OH MY GOD, NO PUN INTENDED. I’M SERIOUS. BUT NOW I CAN’T MAKE MYSELF CHANGE IT. HAHAHAHA.)

TL: I totally agree Big [Male commenter #3] I was considered Class 111 obese in Jan when I was 326 It rocked my world! I was saying that its “commonly” associated with laziness and [Male commenter #3] Im talking about the type of lazy that includes not working out and overeating(and then going to eat KFC and wondering why their still obese)….no one who crossfits or works out falls into this category!!

And I wanted to wash my hands of the whole situation at this point because really?, nobody was listening to what I had to say.

I wanted to.

I really wanted to.

And yet….

[continued]

Call Me Crazy, Part 2

[continued from previous post]

So one day last week, I notice TL’s status update and comments are as follows.

Obesity is not a disease….its a condition commonly associated with laziness

Female commenter #1: AGREE

Male commenter #1: So true Big [TL]. I can’t feel sorry for fat people unless they have some kind of gland condition or something.

Male commenter #2: Laziness and overeating. Don’t forget overeating, [TL]. [Pretty sure, this comment was made by this guy.]

Female commenter #2: I agree too. It just seems really socially irresponsible to let yourself get to that point. Not talking about a few extra pounds here, like from having kids or something, but real obesity.

Let’s stop there for a second, and—ahem—digest.

OK, first off, Male commenter #1, the one who is incapable of “feel[ing] sorry for fat people unless they have some kind of gland condition”…how the hell would he know who does and who doesn’t? Does he stop fat people on the street and go, “Hey, listen, I was just wondering whether to feel sorry for you or judgmental of you. So could you tell me if you have a gland condition?”

And, actually, Male #2 (who I’m going to infer was begotten to two skinny parents, who were begotten themselves to four skinny grandparents, and who has probably never felt the urge to overeat in his life) was the closest to being right on this. Broken down to its most elemental, obesity is almost always a result of overeating. There are lots of reasons people eat more calories that their bodies need:

  • being marketed ridiculous portion sizes
  • high-calorie crap-food being cheaper than good-for-you-food
  • having a disordered relationship with food
  • it tasting really damn good
  • it being a holiday
  • having a hard day at work
  • etc.

But basically, the vast majority of obese people don’t get obese because of “gland conditions”; they get obese by eating too much.

Now, according to the Body Mass Index calculator, I am obese. (According to my dad, I’m a vision of Baroque loveliness. Potato-potahto.) I’m not quite 5’2″, and last time I went to the doctor I weighed 176 lbs. That gives me a BMI of 32.4. Over 30 is obese, thus I am obese. I am obese because I consume more calories than are required by my body. (More on this subject later.)

But I’m not fucking lazy. I get up and go to work every damn day. I keep my house in, well, decent condition. I go to the gym and lift heavy objects over ma head. I walk my dogs to the dog park. I go hiking.

So anyway, I try—I don’t know this dude, or his friends—I try, but I just…can’t…keep…my mouth…shut.

Me: Wow. Sorry, but this is some of the most ignorant shit I’ve read in a long time.

Probably could’ve been a bit more diplomatic. Whatevs.

[continued]

Call Me Crazy, Part 1

This is a tale in five acts, in which our heroine is judgmental and preachy, has a temper tantrum, and learns a Big Life Lesson.

This dude from the gym—let’s call him The Linebacker, TL for short—friended me on Facebook maybe three weeks ago. Not sure why. We’d never really spoken. (And no, he wasn’t trying to get in my pants; he got engaged last weekend.)

Anyway, I accepted the friend request, and when I looked at his profile, I realized how very little we had in common:

  • religion: Christian
  • political beliefs: conservative
  • bio: stuff like If Im not progressing than im regressing. Thats why ill NEVER stop working hard. I can rest when I die.
  • He attended Duke (not really Duke, but someplace like Duke) on a full football scholarship.

So:

  • I’ve got nothing against Christians, but I’m not one.
  • I’ve got nothing against conservat—that’s a big, fat lie, coming out my mouth right now. I’ll admit I do feel some malice towards conservatives.
  • I generally don’t have much conversational rapport with people who use phrases like “fired up” on a regular basis.
  • We all know what an expert I am on football.

Put them all together, well, I just didn’t see us chillin on a Friday night.

(I sound like a judgmental doo-doo head, which I am, but that’s not my point. Right now anyway. He seemed like a good enough dude. I just didn’t think we were going to be besties.)

[continued]

Subconscious Seeks Ogre

I’ve never understood sex dreams. I remember waking up from the first one I had in high school, horrified, because my sexual partner in the dream wasn’t the captain of the basketball team; it wasn’t Robbie, who played trumpet with me in the jazz band and wasn’t afraid to take improv solos and left notes in my locker; it wasn’t even the principal, which could’ve provided for a naughty authority dynamic.

No, it was the sophomore who wore nothing but

these
and these

and a big chain going from his black jeans with the 52″ waist to his empty wallet.

He wasn’t completely a Hobbit, but maybe halfsies, you know? His head was gargantuan. Tiny hands,

fingers like these.

With rhotacism. That’s an l and r to w speech impediment.

Think

this guy.

I remember being enraged at my own subconscious and walking gingerly into school the next day, petrified that, in a moment of trauma-induced Tourette’s, I might blurt it out in the cafeteria and be ridiculed for the rest of my life.

And though I don’t have sex dreams too often, today I woke up shuddering after having dream-sex with a student’s dad. And no, not the hilarious web designer or the charismatic surgeon with beautiful eyes…instead, the paunchy, awkward one with the mid-western accent (yech), whose residence (I remember from the home visit) looks like his garbage can and clothes dryer simultaneously exploded all over the house. It wasn’t even shame-ridden, back-alley sex; there were witnesses.

What is wrong with me?

Please tell me I’m not alone.

No Anvils

Five months ago, I decide no more anti-depressants. I get blood work done.

Despite my challenges, I get B12 shots. A shit-ton of them. I start taking 5,000, then 10,000, IUs of vitamin D and a thyroid medication.

I stop eating gluten. My fatigue goes away, but my depression worsens.

I have thoughts. Not suicidal thoughts, but ones like, “If this is what life is, why would I ever want to inflict this on a child?” And feelings. Crushing feelings, which make me stand in the middle of my living room with my hands on my face, unable to move.

Three-and-a-half weeks ago, despite the fact that my insurance doesn’t cover them, I start taking amino acids. My osteopath says, “Take these 14 pills every day, and come back in a week.”

“A week?” I say.

“Yes, a week. You’ll know in a week.”

A week goes by.

Nothing.

“OK,” says he, “add this one, four of ’em, and come back in a week.” Eighteen pills a day. Very expensive pills. Not covered by my insurance.

Another week goes by. Still having moments where I might as well be under an anvil. Times when all the circumstances point to joy, times when my friends are saying,  “Isn’t this great?” And I think, “It should be. But no, it’s not.”

“Right then,” says my osteopath, “take four more of this last one, and come back in a week. If there’s been no change, we’ll do a urine test.” For one hundred eighty dollars. Not covered by my insurance.

I’m still depressed, and I’m mad and sad about being depressed, and I’m hopeless that I’ll ever not be depressed. I continue to swallow 22 pills a day. Very expensive pills.

And then last Wednesday afternoon, at the gym, I smile, genuinely smile. And I joke with the trainer, and I feel a lightness of being that I remember from long ago. I think back. For the previous couple of days, no anvils.

Immediately, I worry that it’s a fluke, it’ll go away, I’ll never find it again. But for an hour, maybe two, I actually. feel. good.

The rest of the week goes by. No anvils.

Last night, I’m at C & K‘s house, gabbing, singing along to “Sloop John B”, warming my back against the fire. And I think, “Isn’t this great?”

Hm.