The Life That Is Mine..
I demand a recount.
Somebody thought it would be mad funny for me to be born this way. You know...THIS way, with this janky ass genetic condition that has affected my life.
I know someone is going to go off into a tangent about how people's lives are worse than mine and that I should be thankful that I can "hide" my condition. CJ & I can still live normal lives and no one ever know something's "afoot". But I can't hide mine like CJ could. Every aspect of my life is affected by it. A few podiatrists and orthopedic surgeons figured they'd be helping me by cutting and moving shit so I could have a better quality of life.
Life is so improved that I'm a fatass, legally handicapped chick who can't even dress up because she can't find shoes. Wait for the leap for joy.
When we took CJ to Campbell Clinic, I was overjoyed to hear that he was doing well and that the doctor was going to avoid surgery at all costs and my feet were the reason. Such surgeries to "make things better" would make things uncomfortable. I see that NOW...shit, I run through so many PedEggs trying to remove the calloused skin from my scarred feet because I don't want another doctor telling me another operation would help.
Years ago, I was told that I have to keep my weight controlled because I have less square footage to stand on than normal footed fokes. So, here goes the great ass comedy again. Wait for it...
I have to control my weight due to my disability.
To control my weight, I have to exercise.
My disability limits lots of walking and certain types of exercise.
Let's try this again backwards...
My disability limits lots of walking and certain types of exercise.
To control my weight, I have to exercise.
I have to control my weight due to my disability.
So, as my sweetass luck would have it, I am legally disabled with a threat of being REALLY SUPER disabled if I don't lose about 10% of my current weight. Funny how I can't burn calories without my Janky Bitch Feet burning or hurting to the point of numbness and swelling.
I am still waiting for the punchline.
So, those who really don't understand my condition have simple ass solutions to my problem. "Lower your calorie intake. The weight will melt off of you". Imagine how funny that is when my doctor of over a decade tells me I am actually not eating enough per day. WOW, it gets so much better everyday!!!
If I had $20 for everyone's quick answer, I would have a damn Tahoe...paid for. Everyone has a really good idea for me not to end up fat. Eat more, eat less, walk, sprint, P90X, Wii, and to all of them I blink thrice. Has anyone ever wondered "hmm, if it was that easy, Tamara wouldn't be a fatass!!!"
Nope. Because everyone knows the answer to my effed up situation.
CIGNA says I'm not sick enough for Lap Band surgery. Simply having a genetic disorder that renders me disabled and is further aggravated by being overweight isn't enough. I think I have to be damn near dead for help. I need a Blood Pressure or a Diabeetus. Damn. How dare I not be dying.
I was in martial arts. Kind of liked it too. And while I can still do a mean kata or two...I'm still fat.
Can't run.
Can't jump.
Can't find properly fitting shoes.
Can't have lap band.
Can't get meds.
At what point does this get funny so I can laugh?
I've gotten so annoyed that I don't even take pics of myself anymore. As if I need permanent reminders of being The Perpetual Fat Friend. I literally gave away or tossed a grand total of 7 garbage bags full of clothes. I don't feel like I need them. I could still fit about 65% of them and about 20% were too big. Yes, only 15% were too small. But I just didn't want them. I don't go anywhere but work, and I've been wearing jeans to church since...ever. I didn't want reminders of what I wasn't.
Can't find shoes to dress up in. So why keep dresses?
Can't do flip-flops or sandals in the summer...so why wear capris & skirts?
I have a kickass red dress in my closet right now. And I'm tearing the house up trying to find the receipt. Such a sexy dress should be worn by a big girl with the right shoes and style.
I has neither.
But I do have a Babar t-shirt on.
Irony...an elephant wearing an elephant.
I think this is that rock bottom people talk about on TV. If not, then I'll be asleep when it does appear. Today, I am going home, fixing dinner for my family, then going to sleep early. I doubt I'll have an appetite, as if I need one. Hopefully, I'll have a dream that will reveal my perfect method for coming out of this funk.
But with this streak o' luck I have...I'll just dream about going somewhere and being made fun of for being the awkward chick.
Meh...
Somebody thought it would be mad funny for me to be born this way. You know...THIS way, with this janky ass genetic condition that has affected my life.
I know someone is going to go off into a tangent about how people's lives are worse than mine and that I should be thankful that I can "hide" my condition. CJ & I can still live normal lives and no one ever know something's "afoot". But I can't hide mine like CJ could. Every aspect of my life is affected by it. A few podiatrists and orthopedic surgeons figured they'd be helping me by cutting and moving shit so I could have a better quality of life.
Life is so improved that I'm a fatass, legally handicapped chick who can't even dress up because she can't find shoes. Wait for the leap for joy.
When we took CJ to Campbell Clinic, I was overjoyed to hear that he was doing well and that the doctor was going to avoid surgery at all costs and my feet were the reason. Such surgeries to "make things better" would make things uncomfortable. I see that NOW...shit, I run through so many PedEggs trying to remove the calloused skin from my scarred feet because I don't want another doctor telling me another operation would help.
Years ago, I was told that I have to keep my weight controlled because I have less square footage to stand on than normal footed fokes. So, here goes the great ass comedy again. Wait for it...
I have to control my weight due to my disability.
To control my weight, I have to exercise.
My disability limits lots of walking and certain types of exercise.
Let's try this again backwards...
My disability limits lots of walking and certain types of exercise.
To control my weight, I have to exercise.
I have to control my weight due to my disability.
So, as my sweetass luck would have it, I am legally disabled with a threat of being REALLY SUPER disabled if I don't lose about 10% of my current weight. Funny how I can't burn calories without my Janky Bitch Feet burning or hurting to the point of numbness and swelling.
I am still waiting for the punchline.
So, those who really don't understand my condition have simple ass solutions to my problem. "Lower your calorie intake. The weight will melt off of you". Imagine how funny that is when my doctor of over a decade tells me I am actually not eating enough per day. WOW, it gets so much better everyday!!!
If I had $20 for everyone's quick answer, I would have a damn Tahoe...paid for. Everyone has a really good idea for me not to end up fat. Eat more, eat less, walk, sprint, P90X, Wii, and to all of them I blink thrice. Has anyone ever wondered "hmm, if it was that easy, Tamara wouldn't be a fatass!!!"
Nope. Because everyone knows the answer to my effed up situation.
CIGNA says I'm not sick enough for Lap Band surgery. Simply having a genetic disorder that renders me disabled and is further aggravated by being overweight isn't enough. I think I have to be damn near dead for help. I need a Blood Pressure or a Diabeetus. Damn. How dare I not be dying.
I was in martial arts. Kind of liked it too. And while I can still do a mean kata or two...I'm still fat.
Can't run.
Can't jump.
Can't find properly fitting shoes.
Can't have lap band.
Can't get meds.
At what point does this get funny so I can laugh?
I've gotten so annoyed that I don't even take pics of myself anymore. As if I need permanent reminders of being The Perpetual Fat Friend. I literally gave away or tossed a grand total of 7 garbage bags full of clothes. I don't feel like I need them. I could still fit about 65% of them and about 20% were too big. Yes, only 15% were too small. But I just didn't want them. I don't go anywhere but work, and I've been wearing jeans to church since...ever. I didn't want reminders of what I wasn't.
Can't find shoes to dress up in. So why keep dresses?
Can't do flip-flops or sandals in the summer...so why wear capris & skirts?
I have a kickass red dress in my closet right now. And I'm tearing the house up trying to find the receipt. Such a sexy dress should be worn by a big girl with the right shoes and style.
I has neither.
But I do have a Babar t-shirt on.
Irony...an elephant wearing an elephant.
I think this is that rock bottom people talk about on TV. If not, then I'll be asleep when it does appear. Today, I am going home, fixing dinner for my family, then going to sleep early. I doubt I'll have an appetite, as if I need one. Hopefully, I'll have a dream that will reveal my perfect method for coming out of this funk.
But with this streak o' luck I have...I'll just dream about going somewhere and being made fun of for being the awkward chick.
Meh...
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