I no longer have patience for certain things, not because I’ve become arrogant, but simply because I reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste more time with what displeases me or hurts me. I have no patience for cynicism, excessive criticism and demands of any nature. I lost the will to please those who do not like me, to love those who do not love me and to smile at those who do not want to smile at me. I no longer spend a single minute on those who lie or want to manipulate. I decided not to coexist anymore with pretense, hypocrisy, dishonesty and cheap praise. I do not tolerate selective erudition nor academic arrogance. I do not adjust either to popular gossiping. I hate conflict and comparisons. I believe in a world of opposites and that’s why I avoid people with rigid and inflexible personalities. In friendship I dislike the lack of loyalty and betrayal. I do not get along with those who do not know how to give a compliment or a word of encouragement. Exaggerations bore me and I have difficulty accepting those who do not like animals. And on top of everything I have no patience for anyone who does not deserve my patience.
José Micard Teixeira
Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold; the holding of plans or dreams or expectations – Let it all go. Save your strength to swim with the tide. The choice to fight what is here before you now will only result in struggle, fear, an desperate attempts to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go.
Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes through your days whether you receive it gently or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders. Take this on faith; the mind may never find the explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward nonetheless.
Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of rest and peace, and certain transformation.
Danna Faulds – from Go In and In
Karma Calling – Prelude
I want you to know I take no joy in my work. It is complicated, messy and it pays for shit. I don’t pop out of bed with a need or drive that comes from pleasure to do what I do. It merely needs to be done. Laws and society have failed these creatures – so someone has to force the hand of change. I wish it didn’t have to be me, but I can’t sleep at night knowing no one else will step to the task. It is a dangerous job, and you have to have the stomach for it, which in truth I don’t. I don’t like the mess. But sometimes, most of the time, the world is messy, so I work through it. My benefactors don’t have the constitution for this work, but they have deep pockets and motivation.
Uncle Sam gave me some skills and allowed me to travel around the world, but I never had the time actually to see it, much less enjoy it. What I did notice was the worst of the human race. Greed is a big motivator, and the black market for the darkest and most depraved desires of humans provides a means to acquire these things. The poachers, murderers for hire, killing machines really; poachers kill these animals for myth and superstition. The parts and pieces of the animals that are some magical cure-all that bring millions of dollars on the black market. The horns of the Rhino, gall bladders of bears, small bits of the animals for the highest bidder. They will kill anyone that gets in their way as well. Then the big game hunt guides take the highest bidder out to kill magnificent creatures just for the photo op, the wild animals as well as the “canned hunts.” These are particularly disgusting. The animals cared for in a confined area are killed by “hunters” buying the cowardly opportunity to kill them.
It is shit like this that has me saying “what in the fuck is wrong with people?!” several times a day. I have to admit as a killer myself; I am not very creative. There are times where I have to improvise, but usually, I stick with the “Do Unto Others” rule. Whatever they do, I do in turn. It keeps it simple. I’ve managed to live a quiet, under the radar life. It seems I have to come clean if I want to get the message out that if you torture and murder animals someone is willing to put their life on the line to stop you once and for all.
Here is my story.
“Finding Yourself” is not really how it works. You aren’t a ten-dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. “Finding Yourself” is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you.
I’m slowly learning that even if I react, it won’t change anything, it won’t make people suddenly love and respect me, it won’t magically change their minds. Sometimes it’s better to just let things be, let people go, don’t fight for closure, don’t ask for explanations, don’t chase answers and don’t expect people to understand where you’re coming from. I’m slowly learning that life is better lived when you don’t center it on what’s happening around you and center it on what’s happening inside you instead. Work on yourself and your inner peace and you’ll come to realize that not reacting to every little thing that bothers you is the first ingredient to living a happy and healthy life.
If you want to win at life, start by letting people do what they need to do to make themselves happy. Mind your own business. Do what you need to do to make yourself happy.
I wander down this path where evil shadows lurk
dancing in the darkness, calling upon courage to turn and face the monsters
each dying shadow reveals more to take its place
more to carry on the battle, more to haunt me
with the turn of every corner, I grow more determined
Lost Part Two
For as long as I can remember the majority of my extended family has been on a diet. We’re all, shall we say, ample side.
Weight-watchers was the main one, but, every once in a while there would be the Non-Fat Only Diet, Cabbage Soup Diet, Fasting, 80/20 – any time I went to visit I was not looking forward to dessert. Almost always some canned fruit with mayonnaise. I assure you that it is a real thing; a real, disgusting thing that no one should try.
When I was in Kindergarten, a cousin told me that if I “sucked in” my belly I would look better. Thinner. Around about the same time another FAMILY member said to me that my legs were too fat. I was sitting on the center armrest in a pick-up truck. I was 5, and my fucking legs were lying flat. Did I mention, I WAS FIVE.
Who does that? Oh, yeah, ass-holes do that.
Between that behavior and during that time in my life food was not always around and when it was, it was the lowest of quality. Remember those white box black label foodstuffs – GENERIC in big, bold letters. That’s the stuff.
Meal options were limited as well. You can have boiled “GENERIC thin strand pasta” because somehow calling it SPAGHETTI is just wrong; and with this comparable facsimile of spaghetti, a tiny blop of “GENERIC tomato catsup sauce,” dumped onto a slice of white bread and folded it up like a taco. The other “taco” option was a potato, sliced, skillet fried – onto the bread slice and there you have white girl Tacos de Papas. Sometimes for an added treat, you could put a schmear of COUNTRY CROCK on it: Mmmm, the butter-like-spread of Rednecks Worldwide.
When I was in 3rd grade, and the magical JCPenney Catalog arrived, and all of the clothes I liked and circled didn’t come in my size. Now, my mother has to try to explain to me why it was I couldn’t get the pretty light purple button down with pearl buttons. “You’re built like a linebacker; it is just how our family is.”Yay Mom!?
This kind of disappointment went on. Freshman year, I was told by tiny little specimens of Genus cheerleader that I was too fat. I was 5’8″ and 140 lbs, I must have been hideous. Catty bitches suck, but when they are young, they are dimwitted as well. In college, I was 5’8” and 170 pounds, sitting in the booth at Macadoo’s in Blacksburg, VA when a friend of my friend said something like “you have a pretty face, but” It didn’t really register until a few days later standing in line at the grocery store with my boyfriend and his brother. A magazine on the stand raved about some magic diet that “Sally” used to lose 40 pounds and 7 inches by Summer” – and then he said, “You should try that diet.” I stopped, stunned. I turned and said as loud as I could without screaming – “I know how I can lose 200 pounds and 3 inches right the fuck now by dumping your sorry ass.” I walked out to my car and drove off.
The shitty and unwelcomed commentary continued well into my adult life. It gave me a lot of practice to come up with witty retorts. Feel free to use them. *grins*
You have such a pretty face. — You should see my ass!
You should wear a bathing suit that cover-up your legs? — You should wear one that covers your mouth.
Mooooove Cow. — You first Jack-Ass.
You need to get off the couch and move. — You need to get off your high horse.
Why would you let yourself go like this? — Go? Don’t mind if I do. (while you walk away)
Have you tried losing the weight? — Yeah, but it just keeps finding me.
You fat bitch. — “Wow, you are so perceptive, Sherlock would be proud of that kind of attention to the details.”
It has taken me 40+ years to begin a healthier relationship with my body. I am not on this planet to worry about my weight. The scale reads a number that is nothing more than a reminder that gravity is fantastic. Healthy doesn’t equal weight alone; there are so many things that go into being healthy.
As I struggle, like so many others, I am trying to accept my body for what it is – MY BODY. I don’t have to conform to any idea of what beautiful is. No one does – be your own beautiful. There is so much to see and do that I no longer have the time or the desire to fit into any mold.
Be well, and remember “those that matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.”
I get up before anyone else in my household, not because sleep has deserted me in my advancing years, but because an intense eagerness to live draws me from my bed. In the same way, I drop off every night with a kind of secret satisfaction as I think of the day to come, even if it is likely to be a dark one; for tomorrow is the future and tomorrow contains the whole of that which is possible.
Prepare for a bit of ramble – but I wanted to share the photos as an accountability thing for me and possibly to help others struggling. I left out a lot of details because there are others that have newer and more helpful info – but if you have a question, please feel free to ask. You can contact me from the form.
Eight years ago I was prepping for bariatric surgery. Now, after all of it – would I recommend it? If you are serious about making a lifestyle change and if you are sure that you genuinely have put forth every effort and still are struggling. YES.
Otherwise, no. It is not a quick fix; it is not — let me repeat that IT IS NOT the easy way out.
I had the Gastric Bypass – Roux en Y in March 2011. In March 2010, we took a road trip to CA. We stopped along the way to visit friends. Between my weight and fibromyalgia, I had a mobility scooter. I was miserable if I had to walk more than 100 feet. I had to miss out on several places because I couldn’t make the trek up the stairs or I would not fit in the tiny seats. Miserable I tell you.
When we returned from the trip, and I was sorting the images. I realized then, and there I had to do something!
I did a lot of research. I read books; I chatted with others who had the surgery and contacted a reputable surgeon. I was on my way. It took eight months from walking in the door for my first consult to surgery date. It was a whirlwind. I had psychiatric appointments; I had blood work, I had to meet with a support group. After the first two months of the intro to this process, I had to adhere to a weight loss plan. I had to be able to lose 25 lbs before I would be ready to go under the knife.
During that time I stuck to my plan – no matter how painful it was. It was so hard to train myself to eat healthier foods when in the back of my head was that voice – “just order the milkshake, this is the LAST milkshake you will ever have” – “oh fries, yes please – this will be the LAST time I can have fries” — you get the idea.
I was mourning the loss of comfort foods; I was trying to let go of the warm and fuzzy feelings you get when you are stuffing your mouth with grandma’s biscuits. It was a very trying time for me.
I was thankful that during my recovery, Michael cooked his food. It was the complete opposite of being tempted, the smells and visual cues of the food was just more than my newly sensitive stomach could bear.
It took me about six months to make my way up to being able to eat a small handful of food in one sitting.
Cut to 8 years later. I’ve learned my thinking I would never have delicious foods again was not only a major mental stressor, but it was also unnecessary; I have had fries and the rare milkshake. The key for me has been a drastic modification process. It helps that I don’t crave the same foods that I did before the surgery. I have also learned that if I have a craving for a specific food, I let it linger for a bit and if it doesn’t go away after a few days, I let myself have it. It gives me comfort to know that if I want it that no food is off the table forever, and that has made binge mentality disappear.
I lost a lot of weight during the first 13 months – by 18 months I had lost 205 pounds – by the 3-year mark I had gained some back, and here at eight years, I am still under the goal weight set for me, and more importantly, I feel better. When I was in the 130s I was miserable every time I looked into the mirror. Sagging skin and I thought I looked sickly. In a short amount of time, I went from 24US jeans to 4US jeans. It was a whirlwind for sure.