WARNING! Yeah, I just thought I should go ahead and prepare you with a great, big, FAT warning; a warning so big that the surgeon general just quivered at the mere thought of putting it in print. WARNING...I'm in a mood. Here's the deal (my mom's favorite three words), I understand that you read these posts with possible feelings of gigglyishness (yeah, that's an adjective) or lightheartedness or anything that makes you smile, but not today, because for every four to five posts that are happy, you have to put up with the ones where I'm in a mood. And no, PMS is not involved...my husband knows the hour PMS starts and ignores anything ugly I have to say for awhile (for me, PMS is nothing more than a short period of exorcism...it takes about 6-8 days for the demon to come out), but since there is no PMS, you may not ignore my rant and rave. In fact, some of y'all may have this exact feeling, and what is that feeling you may wonder? No, it's not that Oprah wrapped up her show, even though I feel that she didn't even take my feelings into consideration; I mean, c'mon, sister Oprah, I thought we were tight...I see how it is, though. I still have Sarah Jessica Parker...anyway....
I'M FRUSTRATED! Yes, the Frustrated Abigail has tuned in today to write this post. She has tied the Fit Abigail to a treadmill with Spice Girls blaring on repeat (So...tell me what you want, what you really really want...), locked the Fat Abigail in a McDonalds with a never ending supply of Rolo McFlurries topped with BigMacs (hold the lettuce because heaven knows nothing green can be on it), and the Frustrated Abigail is standing on a soapbox of irk and self pity. I am frustrated that I have to work ten times harder than anyone I know to MAINTAIN a weight that is considered obese!!!! I am sick and tired of clocking in at the gym to kill myself to unworldly soreness (I hurt to a debilitating point everyday...my hips...my knees) just so I can eat what I want, which is still minimal to most people I know. And right now, some of you all are rolling your eyes because you have seen what I eat...just note that I don't eat like that every day, and you also don't see the hours of workout I did to try and cancel that meal out. I watched my husband eat Oreos for breakfast yesterday, this was after I had my plain oatmeal and went on a five mile run, and I was so jealous of him (my husband...he's so gorgeous...and what y'all didn't just see was me leaning back in my chair to daydream about him for 5-10 mins...ahhhhh).
I don't know why it has built up in me today. I guess because it's one of those days when I rolled over in bed to wake up, I noticed the back-fat-fold leading to the stomach-fat-belly button-eating-fold and thought, "Seriously!" I'm freaking out here! What am I supposed to do??? I just went from a life where I was working out close to four hours a day to a life where I can take my time and workout when I please, but there's something about being accounted for at the gym...I probably wouldn't have gone half the time if I wasn't the one teaching the classes. Don't get me wrong, now, you know I love working out and being a beast, but man. So yeah, I'm freaking out a little bit. I'm gaining weight steadily, and it's just not fair that I HAVE to workout four hours a day to maintain an "unhealthy" weight...bite me, BMI chart!
Do you get what I'm saying, though? I promise that if anyone else does what I do, they'd have the perfect body, but my body is not only far from magazine cover material, it is always on a steady weight gain. The minute I cross a calorie line...boom...five pounds. Why?????????????????????????? And what does it take to lose that five pounds? About a month of hard work and broccoli for dinner every night (seriously, that's what I have to do). I've had my thyroid checked, and it's fine. I've been told by a lot of people, including doctors, that I should be a lot smaller than what I am with as much as I do, and I say, "Well, duh, and thanks for noticing, now if you'll excuse me, I feel the need to take a cheese grater to my double chin."
If you're a girl in my life, it's time for me to be honest to you, I've sized you up. Yep, that's what I do. I size every female up and inspect every inch...and I'm green with envy. How awful is that? That's pretty bad. But I can't help but to walk around and look at all these girls and ask why I couldn't have this or that. There hasn't been a single girl who I've inspected that I didn't want something from. I just want to look at my reflection, and say, "Okay, this I can deal with." It sucks. I am telling you that it sucks to walk around hating my body and wanting everyone else's. It hurts staring in the mirror with tears in my eyes asking myself what more can I do. It breaks my heart, and my husband's, when I can't walk with my head held high when he tells me I'm perfect, beautiful, and flawless. We were watching a movie the other night, and Jennifer Aniston's perfectness made me sick. I looked at my husband out of nowhere and told him that I couldn't ever look like that, and asked if he was okay with it. He doesn't deserve that treatment from me. I don't deserve that treatment from myself! Females in my life don't deserve to get molested with my eyes when they walk into a room!!
My little sister asked me one time what we would obsess over if we didn't obsess over our weight. What in our lives would be as important as the hours we put into measuring our food, counting our calories, comparing fat grams, researching new eating habits, sweating at the gym, soothing injured muscles, hating other girls (oh, you know you're just as guilty), talking ourselves out of indulgence, being jealous of other's willpower, spending money on detox meds, or anything else related to it??? I couldn't answer. I try to imagine a life where I didn't care, and I have honestly tried to be happy, but then I turn on the tv, read a magazine, go online, or walk outside, and I am reminded in thousands of different ways why my body is not good enough. C'mon, media, quit rubbing these body images in our faces and telling us that's what we need to be!
Do you want to see me have an anxiety attack? Tell me to put on a bathing suit...you'd think I was just told the world was about to end. I can feel my heart rate increase right now....breathe, Abigail. I've told you before that I don't choose to be this way. I don't know when it happened, but for all of my life I have been upset with my body. I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm relating to those who do and feel the same. It seems petty, and believe me it is, but it's still there, and it's still frustrating. I feel ya, sisters.
So yeah, the Frustrated Abigail says it's not fair. My Frustrated Followers are saying, "Abigail, shut up, read your past posts, and be grateful for what you have." I am, I am...I told you this was a pity party, so just deal with me, okay? We all have these pity parties. I am showing you that it's okay to have those days where you want to break every mirror in the house, outlaw shorts or miniskirts (stupid girls in their stupid shorts with their stupid legs without the stupid cellulite around their stupid thighs while walking on the stupid road in their stupid heels because their stupid legs aren't stupidly long enough for their stupid perfect body and their stupid hair that tops their stupid face that I hope gets pooped on by a bird!), burn every fitness magazine that tells me that I can lose five lbs in ten minutes by cutting out negative energy and croutons, and dive head first into a vat of cake batter ice cream while yelling, "I give up!"
No, I don't feel bad about going on this rant and rave. I warned you in the very beginning, and we've made it to the end. I know I'm not alone. I know that every single girl has her day...today was mine. Having just yammered on about it makes breathing a bit easier. Even though I think the way my body responds to food but not activity is not fair, I know that I am blessed. I have a lot going for me: my health for starters - the fact that I'm healthy enough to workout four hours a day is a blessing - my husband who tolerates these Frustrated Abigail days with patience, my family who doesn't question me, but understands me, and my followers who read this and say it's okay now snap out of it. I'm snapping out of it. Please don't look at me and say, "How can you write this post, but tell us to think positively in all the other posts?" Because I can, darn it...I'm human. Now that we have shaken some of the frustration away, let's enjoy the day, count our blessings, embrace our health, smile that smile, and secretly curse anyone you just eye molested.
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