It’s been so long since I have written a proper post. It has been over six months since I talked about anything important. This hasn’t been because I haven’t anything to write about, in fact, I have way too much to write about. Sometimes I find this overwhelming. I’m often thinking (and not writing) that YES this is it. Remember to write about that. But I forget about “it” or I refuse to deal with said “it”. Dealing with “it” is what this blog is all about. Dealing and delving into my wants, needs, desires, and pain.

So I decided to try again. I guess it comes with the territory of a New Year, right? We make promises to be a better person but by week four we give up realizing we are the same heaps of shit as last year or the year before maybe just a few pounds heavier. It sounds so cynical yet for countless of people it’s so true. I see lots of friends and family make vague promises like to be a better parent or wife. What the hell does that even mean? Are you saying that for the past 29 years you have been a shitty parent or a shitty spouse? Or what changed? How do you plan on being a better person? Many people aren’t willing to look at what makes them a mediocre human being or they just mask it with kindness. Kindness equals better person but for the recipient this may not be the case.

I like to make a total of ten resolutions a year and on average I am able to keep six or seven. I do this on purpose. As I continue with my resolutions, I realize which ones are simply ideals and which ones are concrete and well planned out. For example, last year I made two career promises: #1) Apply to the FBI and #2) Apply to four PhD programs. I was dependent on the FBI application window to open. It didn’t. I didn’t have any control over that. However, I did have control over what four programs I applied to and when I would be applying to them. I did the research. I wrote the papers to the best of my abilities and I submitted all my applications at least two weeks before the deadline.

So what are my resolutions this year? I have no idea. I don’t know what it is that I want or need. I can do the same old, same old aka lose weight. Well how much weight do I want to lose? I don’t know. I’m at my freshmen 15 weight. But losing weight isn’t a big deal to me. I mean it is but it’s not a priority. I weigh over 200 pounds and I’m sure that is part of my infertility but it’s kind of like meh, who needs to have kids anyway? I once told myself that I would not get a tattoo or a piercing until I was at 199.9 but fuck that shit. I did it when I was ready and I was nowhere near 199.9. Besides I like having an ass. A Mexican girl with no ass is one of the worse things imaginable.

Asshole, uninformed, people have asked me, “but don’t you want to be skinny and happy?” Half the time I want to ask them if that means that they are unhappy. But that would make me a bitch as I just called them a fat ass. Instead I just smile. I don’t even bother nodding. I would say 80% I am happy regardless of my weight. I know, society, how dare I be happy as a big girl. I should be shunned and locked away in a tower. Happiness. Pfft. Only for skinny girls with their stupid thigh gap, right? WRONG. I want thighs that show off that I can run, not thighs that look like they can’t support my 20 pound body frame. Digressing…

But what about that 20% when I hate myself? What the hell do I do with that? 20% is a lot of hate. It’s this self-hate that I want to work on in 2014 because for a good 73 days a year I become a self-deprecating loser. I cry a lot. I am overly sensitive. I stress over mundane things like regular clothes (if I was thin would I be Parisian chic or Bohemian), wedding dresses, whether swallowing after the perfect blowjob would make me good wife material, why anal sex is highly popular and the calories in animal style fries. I don’t even eat animal style fries but one day I might want to and the calories I would eat would be a disgusting amount!! This freaks me out more than the Ebola virus. I am ashamed to admit that. I binge eat and purge. And again, shamefully, I love to purge. I dream of a time when I found it acceptable to self-harm or found my identity through a male. It’s easier to blame others that to admit self-hate. But I digress.

I need to understand where the fuck this hate came from and what it has done to me. I didn’t realize that I had allowed it to escalate until Andrew tried to take a picture of me. I went self-pity ape shit. It was me deleting every photo he took of me while we were on vacation, begging him to not post any of them on any social media. My inner high school girl screamed, “OMG I’M SO FAT. NUUUUU!!!!” And for 15 days I believed this. When I came home, I realized I had crossed the threshold of the freshmen fifteen and yet I still can’t stand to look at pictures of myself. I can admit to ruining photos by making silly faces. I take roughly 50 photos of myself and will post one. Just one.

Ugh… I have a feeling that picking apart my self-hate is going to be painful and tiresome. So let’s avoid it for now and think of other shit I want to do.

#1) Learn to shoot a gun.
#2) Read at least 30 books.
#3) Let go of the credit card.
#4) Learn to look at photos of myself. Or maybe take better photos of myself.
#5) Discover Southern California.
#6) Run those 10Ks!!
#7) Write.
#8) Workout more.
#9) Cook more. McDonald’s less.
#10) Dissect self-hate.

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January 14, 2014

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