My New Shrink

So I went to see my new shrink yesterday. He is the same shrink who worked with my brother when he was a teenager, and is currently working with my brother. I have had more shrinks than I can remember, and I can honestly say I think this is the best shrink that I have ever seen. Most of them just sit there and everytime you say something they ask, "and how does that make you feel?" and that makes me feel pissed off. I hate when they do that. This guy doesn't do that. He listens, and waits for me to tell me things, and if while I'm talking a reach a point where I just have nothing else to say, he'll ask me a question, but not the standard question, and actual question about what I've been saying. It shows he's actually listening.

I also like the fact that he already knows my family. He knows my dad is abusive and insane, and that both of my brothers are mean and self centered, and that my mom is passive and dismissive. It makes a big difference, because I don't have to waste my time explaining the level of crazy that I deal with on a regular basis.

I also really think that this time, this is going to work. Not just because he's a good shrink, but because I want this more than I have ever wanted it before. Not only that, he gives feedback, and I think that between my trying and his skill, we might be able to break the cycle of abuse that I put up with and have come to accept as an every day part of life.

Feeling Shitty

I'm usually pretty indifferent while I'm at work. I usually just go through the motions with no real care about what I'm doing. I'm sitting at work now and I feel terrible. I hate my body, I hate everything. My mind keeps getting away from me and thinking about things that make me more depressed. I mean, just hypothetical situations keep going into my head, these scenerios, with no bases for anything actually happening, make me feel even worse. Nothing is actually wrong. It's making me crazy. I should be happy. I've started walking and all that, I got approved my surgery, it's scheduled and everything. I should be crazy happy. I just want to leave work, because I know when I go home, I'll go walk 2 or 3 miles and feel a lot better, hop in the shower, and hopefully that will last the rest of the night. In the mean time, I just have to deal with these feelings and images and all the other shit I'm thinking about.

I just hope that one of these days I won't be so depressed that I can call my doctor and get a shrink. I know I need a shrink, but at the same time, I don't like going. I usually just don't like how the interfere with my plans for the day, and then that makes me unhappy. I just don't like them..it's stupid. My day is stupid...

12 days until my last day of work....

Rages

My mom has said for years that I have "rages." I'm an angry person, and quick to jump to violence so solve my problems. Growing up in my house violence was just an accepted part of life. My brothers and I learned how to box when we were young, so fights just became more violent. I have broken a variety of things in fights with my older brother...kitchen chairs, eggs, computer keyboards, phones...and that's only stuff that actually broke while we fought.

I have often been able to control myself from getting physical with a person, in clubs and bars years ago, I never had to fight anyone because for some reason people found me intimidating. I have hit 6 foot something guys in clubs. A few weeks ago, I grabbed some guy by the throat in a bar for fucking with Jil. Every time something makes me angry my immediate solution is to beat the crap out of someone.

I have known for a long time that I need something to do about this. My mom has been saying it for years, and I have known it for a long time. So I have an idea...

I called my dad..

Dad, so, I've decided..here is what I need you to do..

Okay..what?

So I need you to find somewhere for me to box at. I mean, not just a gym full of little kids, I need to get in fights and need to get hit.

Are you sure you don't want to be someone else's kid?

What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Nothing..nevermind...consider it done.

So my goal, is that I'll be able to control myself, because when I get hit in a fight, I'm gonna be angry, and fighting regularly will help me to control that angry. That, and I think that I will good to get my ass kicked. It's weird, but I think that it would help. Anyone wanna box with me?

Domestic Abuse

Gunpowder and Lead

Miranda Lambert

County road 233, under my feet
Nothin' on this white rock but little ol' me
I've got two miles 'til, he makes bail
And if I'm right we're headed straight for hell

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight, well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and lead

Well it's half past ten, another six pack in

And I can feel the rumble like a cold black wind
He pulls in the drive, gravel flies
He don't know what's waitin' here this time

Hey I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one

And he ain't seen me crazy yet

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and lead

His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and,
Gunpowder and lead

*In case you didn't notice, you can listen to that song, there is a box towards the bottom of the page*

So I'm really pissed off about this whole Rihanna/Chris Brown thing. I think my biggest problem, is THAT WOMEN ARE STUPID. I mean, most of the stuff that we hear are rumors, but there has to be some merit to them, because they had to come from somewhere. I have heard that Chris Brown had been becoming increasingly abusive, yet she stayed with him. Then he beat the shit out of her in the car, and she married him? Really? That's the kinda girl I want to be a role model for my children. She's a winner. That is why women are stupid, who doesn't wanna stay with a guy who beats on her regularly, I'm sure it's just to keep some excitement in their relationship. She never knows when it's gonna come, but gosh darn it, we know it will.

The police report said that she was looking at his phone reading out loud texts from some other woman, and then Chris Brown tried to force her out of the car, then when he couldn't because she was wearing her seat belt. Then he pushed her head against the window, and then started punching her. He told her that he was going to beat the shit out of her when they got home. He bit her shoulders and fingers, and punched her some more. He also, threatened to kill her.

To top it off, Chris Brown's step dad used to beat the shit out of his mom, and he always thought he would end up in jail because he wanted to kill him. Yet, here he is beating the shit out of his girlfriend. I'm sure his mama is soo proud of him.

If a man ever lays a hand on me, I can almost guarantee, if I don't kill him, my dad will. Rihanna's parents, are apparently happy with however Rihanna decided to handle the situation. I think that Rihanna is a MORON, I hope she never has kids, because Chris Brown will probably beat them too.

Either way, my favorite part of that song is when she says, "you ain't seen me crazy yet," because no matter how crazy I am now, how many meds they try to put me out to regulate my mood. God help the poor son of bitch who lays a hand on me, because then you'll know what crazy is.

Update: Here is the link to Perez, with a copy of the detective report from Chris Brown's beating of Rihanna... http://perezhilton.com/2009-03-05-a-must-read-2

Moving Out?

I haven't had time to explain my moving out situation, but I will. Either way, I asked sent my dad an e-mail regarding moving in with him. My two questions were...

What would the rules be at your house?
Is there a closet in that room that I could hang up my clothes?

This is his response...

• No kite flying indoors.
• No guests above the first floor except for a bathroom break.
• Must take all medicines prescribed
• no smoking except on third floor
• 2nd floor tv on mute or headphones (provided)
• reasonable, sane conduct
• learn and use burgler alarm
• clean room and bathroom.
• Yes there is a closet
• Don't move stuff that is not yours
• Don't eat other peoples food without permission
• No off street parking provided but may be periodically available.
• Be nice to the animals.
• You get no pets. Too many now.
• No guns other than those provided, same for ammo.
• You may be terminated at any time with notice

...If I had more time I could think up more


My dad is a very special fellow. That is copied directly from the e-mail, I got it on my blackberry and came online to put it here, because I think he's funny.

Update, Anonymous, Landlady

I'm registering for classes today and then I have to go to the doctor. Very exciting. I've been so tired lately. I think my body is just used to the amount of sleep that it was getting while I was sick, and now that I'm a normal functioning member of society again, I don't have time to sleep all day.

Anonymous, thanks for the notes, I'm pretty sure I've figured out who you are, and thanks for stopping by. Your not the first, nor the last person who has/will tried to talk me out of the surgery, but I don't need to live with anyone but myself, and it is my choice.

Bobby's landlady stopped by yesterday. I never found myself referring to an old woman as a cunt until now, Jane is a cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. Sorry, had to get it out of my system.

Jane just knocks on the door once and barges in. For all she knows, one day we'll be fucking on the couch, I'm sure that will be a fun suprise for all members involved. Regardless, after letting herself into the apartment, she hand Bobby a piece of paper (typed on a typeriter), saying that whenever she decided that the water bill is too high, Bobby has to pay it. She wanted Bobby to sign the paper and give her money. I told her no. In the lease agreement it clearly states that we pay heat and electric, and she will pay the water bill. It ended up turning into a rather big arguement, manly because she is scenile.

We have three fish tanks at the apartment. Two of those tanks are filled with lizards who are used to living in the desert, hence, the have a small bowl of water in the tank for when they are feeling extra hot. No more than 2 cups of water per lizard. We have a third fish tank that we have been trying to sell since we bought it, that has never been filled with water. Jane started claiming that the last time she was over all of the tanks were full of water, and that's why the water bill was so high. If the lizards tanks were full of water, we would no longer have lizards, they can't swim that long. Anyway, she got mad because we refused to sign the paper, and told her she couldn't do that, but if she wanted to leave a copy of it, we would have a lawyer look at it, and then we'd get back to her.

That just made her more mad. She started bitching about she had just spent all this money fixing the roof. As if that was our fault, her cheap roof was leaving above the $2000 TV and at the opposite end of the house on top of the brand new computer. Really? That's our fault? She's lucky we have renters insurance. Then she just stared for almost a whole minute before I walked her to the door, as she bitched about how we're slobs, which is ironic because the apartment is damn near empty. The second she got to the door, she turned to make another smart ass comment to me, and I closed it. Cunt...cunt...cunty cunt.

Roux en Y (part 3)

I met with my nutritionist again, and this time she sees that I am willing to make changes in my life, and she supports my decision. I'm working hard, I changed my eating habits, I'm eating more fruits and veggies, and I have cut back dramatically on my smoking. The meeting went very smoothly. The doctor is now submitting to my insurance to see if they are actually going to pay for it, now that I went through everything else.

I also feel the need to comment to my anonymous commenter... first, I'm sure I know this person well, but I'm surprised at myself, that I can't think of who it would be...

"hey, so it's not really my place to say this, but you should really consider life after that surgery.
Dumping syndrome will make you feel like death if you eat too much food, or if you eat the wrong things. Dumping is like... the worst acid reflux that you could ever imagine, combined with diarrhea and vomiting. and- eating too much isn't like binge eating. Eating too much after you've had this surgery is about as much as a well balanced meal. You won't be able to eat more than... oh... half a chicken breast and some vegetables.You are so young, and you are a culinarian."

I am young, but now is the time to get the surgery before I get any life threatening illness. I have spent a lot of time thinking about this, and I know the risks, and I know what life will be life after. I know that I won't get to gorge myself on creme brulee and truffles, but I got the opportunity to go to culinary school and to eat some amazing food, expensive food, and exotic food. It was like touring the world every meal. I also can still enjoy amazing food, just in moderation, like a normal person would eat it.

You won't be able to enjoy food nearly as much. Rich foods, spicy foods, large meals... I don't know what other health issues you have that are forcing you to make this decision, but if they aren't life threatening, i agree with the nutritionist. You haven't exhausted other options.
what happened to the Claudia who "would never get lipo or weight loss surgery, because it's a cop out- because i can do it myself"? That's what you used to say.

I almost remember saying that. It still is a cop out. After all of the diets, the personal trainers, and the stress, and the endless failure, some people just have to admit they can't do it on their own.

You are depressed, and feeling shitty. So it's easy to give in to the visual imperative of our time. But it won't make you happy. No it won't. The pain pills may help for a while, but I believe in the girl who used to throw for track. I believe in the girl who was the only one on the team who could do their 100 leg lifts. I believe in the girl who would drop it like its hot and drop down and get her eagle on (you do realize that those dance moves are strength training exercises?)

I am often depressed, which of course is pretty shitty, but my unhappiness does not stem from my weight. I have spent a good amount of time having a shrink explain to me that losing weight isn't going to solve my problems. Luckily for me, my depression stems from abuse, not weight. I have never really loved my body, but I have liked being a thick girl, not a typical tiny girl.
I loved doing track, being the strong girl. I still can do a disgusting amount of leg lifts, and I can lift hundreds of pounds with my calves. I can still do all those things, but the muscles that I have from track, and dancing, and personal trainers, and everything else, is unfortunately, covered in fat.

Well, i hope you read this, although i know that the process has started and it won't be stopped. I'm sorry things are tough for you right now, but you can get through it!

The process hopefully won't be stopped. It's incredibly hard for some people to realize, that the hardest part about getting weight loss surgery isn't the tests and the doctors, it's having a personal realization that you just can't do it on your own. You spend months feeling like a failure, and trying harder and harder to do it without help, and you can't. You'll try starving yourself, and weird diets, and maybe, like me, hire a big mean black man to force you to work extra hard every time you exercise. Except nothing works, and that sucks, and that is when you hit that low, low, where you finally come to terms with the fact that you need the surgery. That doing it own your own isn't an option, because you've repeatedly failed doing it your way.

To my anonymous commenter, I know I must know you, and I know it must be well. I can't imagine anyone remember when I did track, or that all the girls on my team were weak (they couldn't even do real push-ups), but I'm glad you spoke your mind, but I'm sorry I don't agree. And if for some reason you decide to leave me a note saying who you are, that'd be pretty sweet, because I kinda feel like an idiot not knowing someone, who I actually know well.