I have been a bad, bad girl.
I have diabetes, and I have only been paying minimal attention to my eating in the last month or so.
My sugar has been fine, which is almost worse because it's like my body is giving me permission to eat whatever I want. Don't get me wrong - I don't eat junk. I haven't been counting carbs, though.
The problem is, that this is under medication. My goal was to reduce and eliminate what I needed to take. I've learned from some accidental missed dosages that I can't eat what I want and not take my medication. It doesn't work. My sugar shoots up to diabetic and near-diabetic ranges (way better than when I was hospitalized earlier this year - over 300 when I checked into the ER).
I didn't fall off the food wagon all at once. It was little stuff that I excused. Once the little stuff was excused, things like mashed potatoes and ice cream became OK.
This was worse than when I was in the midst of my bottom-of-the-barrel drug days. Then, it was fully recognized that I was out of control. Anyone looking at me could have detected it. Now, it's food - and good food! I use unprocessed ingredients and everything is homemade. I not only know everything that's going into my mouth, but I can figure out the carb count per serving.
Patton Oswalt did a bit about how he couldn't end up in the cool rehab with the rock stars. Instead, he's in over-eater's anonymous with stories about waking up in a hotel room where the underage chubby prostitute took off with your Ritz crackers and how he needed to, "...Swim away from pie," (seriously, YouTube this - it's hilarious, and I totally ruined it).
It's not one decision, though; it's a million decisions throughout the day. This morning, there were cookies on the counter (homemade with all natural ingredients, y'all). I actually thought, "I should just eat these today and work on my food tomorrow. Just call today a wash." Then, I realized it sounded like me back when I'd have a baggie full of Adderall at midnight and work the next day. I could sleep, or I could just power through the night and tomorrow and sleep after that - knowing full well that I'd be calling in sick, but lying to myself about what would actually happen. If I'd eaten the cookies, I probably would have eaten more tomorrow.
But damn if that's now how it feels. I need to swim away from pie. I got my life under control once without having to resort to 12 steps - I'll do it again.
I didn't eat the cookies, by the way. Instead, one cup of fat free Greek yogurt (10 grams of carbs) and 1 tablespoon of homemade apple butter (8 grams of carbs) with two packets of stevia. That puts my breakfast total at 18 carbs. I could have had more (I'm allowing myself 30 per meal), but Greek yogurt is incredibly filling and the tartness curbs my appetite.
It would be so much easier if I was still trying to control my drug use.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
I'm Not an Orphan
I've called myself an orphan ever since my mother died, when I was thirteen. First, I did it to take the sting out of it - though not knowingly. I mean, I said it like it was a joke. It was never funny, though. Normally, it just made situations awkward. Later, I said it because it was the truth.
Even before my mother died, I didn't really have a normal family. My mother and I lived together, my sisters - both being much older - had already started their families, and my mother's fiancé was only around on weekends because he lived two hours away. My mom worked full-time, sometimes holding down two jobs. I was alone most of the time.
I'd look at people interacting with their families and only understand them the way an observer could. I studied them like an anthropologist, trying to analyze how they worked. They were interesting, but not anything I longed for. They normally seemed more trouble than they were worth, and everyone I knew was hiding most of themselves from them (that may have been more related to the hedonistic lifestyle we were all living, but it was still all I really knew or saw). It seemed like they claimed to love people simply because they shared DNA.
Also, I wasn't completely without family. I have a sister who has kids. But, whenever she said she loved me, I've never believed it. She doesn't even know me. I don't love people I don't know, regardless of relation.
Instead of relying on the fickleness of genes, I built my community from friends. While most of those friendships have drifted away due to life and time, I still have some solid connections. And I love! I love my husband, I love my friends, I love my pets. I'm not some emotionless sociopath.
However, family ties became real a couple of months ago (written about here). Now, I have a father. He's not what I thought he'd be at all. And my god, but I have a fucking father!
We've been chatting back and forth through email and have built a rapport. I chide him for eating poorly, he tells me how proud he is of how I turned out. I cry sometimes because I hate how good that makes me feel. I'm living a family dynamic.
Now, we're talking about meeting - like real meeting in meat space.
Is it too late to have a father? When he says he loves me (which he does), does it mean anything? I mean, like my sister, he doesn't even know me. Is love automatic with genetics? If it is, does it mean I'm missing pieces somehow for not feeling it?
Is it pathetic to want your parents' approval when you haven't had parents most of your life?
When we meet, I don't know if I'll hug him. I'm not good with people I don't know touching me.
Even before my mother died, I didn't really have a normal family. My mother and I lived together, my sisters - both being much older - had already started their families, and my mother's fiancé was only around on weekends because he lived two hours away. My mom worked full-time, sometimes holding down two jobs. I was alone most of the time.
I'd look at people interacting with their families and only understand them the way an observer could. I studied them like an anthropologist, trying to analyze how they worked. They were interesting, but not anything I longed for. They normally seemed more trouble than they were worth, and everyone I knew was hiding most of themselves from them (that may have been more related to the hedonistic lifestyle we were all living, but it was still all I really knew or saw). It seemed like they claimed to love people simply because they shared DNA.
Also, I wasn't completely without family. I have a sister who has kids. But, whenever she said she loved me, I've never believed it. She doesn't even know me. I don't love people I don't know, regardless of relation.
Instead of relying on the fickleness of genes, I built my community from friends. While most of those friendships have drifted away due to life and time, I still have some solid connections. And I love! I love my husband, I love my friends, I love my pets. I'm not some emotionless sociopath.
However, family ties became real a couple of months ago (written about here). Now, I have a father. He's not what I thought he'd be at all. And my god, but I have a fucking father!
We've been chatting back and forth through email and have built a rapport. I chide him for eating poorly, he tells me how proud he is of how I turned out. I cry sometimes because I hate how good that makes me feel. I'm living a family dynamic.
Now, we're talking about meeting - like real meeting in meat space.
Is it too late to have a father? When he says he loves me (which he does), does it mean anything? I mean, like my sister, he doesn't even know me. Is love automatic with genetics? If it is, does it mean I'm missing pieces somehow for not feeling it?
Is it pathetic to want your parents' approval when you haven't had parents most of your life?
When we meet, I don't know if I'll hug him. I'm not good with people I don't know touching me.
Lower Carb Recipe - Eggplant Pizzas
Pizza is a carb-heavy food. While it's alright to indulge once in awhile, it's not something you can consume regularly.
However, if you replace the crust with something lower in carbs (there are options - here, here, and here), you can enjoy the tastes without having to worry about your sugar. With the eggplant replacing the crust, you also get a high-fiber boost.
1 medium - large eggplant (a whole eggplant will have somewhere between 20 and 30 carbs)
1/4 cup marinara or pizza sauce (carbs will vary, but normally less than 10)
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese (normally about 4 grams)
pizza toppings (take those into account when you're adding your carbs)
Preheat your oven to 425 and grease a baking sheet. Slice the eggplant about 1/2 inch thick. I like to slice it vertically, but it doesn't really matter. If you wanted to use this as an appetizer, you could slice horizontally.
Bake your eggplant for 25 minutes.
When it comes out, move it with a spatula to make sure it didn't stick.
Top your eggplant however you like and bake for another 15 - 20 minutes.
Done!
However, if you replace the crust with something lower in carbs (there are options - here, here, and here), you can enjoy the tastes without having to worry about your sugar. With the eggplant replacing the crust, you also get a high-fiber boost.
1 medium - large eggplant (a whole eggplant will have somewhere between 20 and 30 carbs)
1/4 cup marinara or pizza sauce (carbs will vary, but normally less than 10)
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese (normally about 4 grams)
pizza toppings (take those into account when you're adding your carbs)
Preheat your oven to 425 and grease a baking sheet. Slice the eggplant about 1/2 inch thick. I like to slice it vertically, but it doesn't really matter. If you wanted to use this as an appetizer, you could slice horizontally.
Bake your eggplant for 25 minutes.
When it comes out, move it with a spatula to make sure it didn't stick.
Top your eggplant however you like and bake for another 15 - 20 minutes.
Done!
Friday, September 13, 2013
The Abandonment Chain
Some things have been weighing heavy in the last couple of months that have been making me rethink family relationships.
So, a few things not everyone knows about me:
I never really had a strong familial bond. While my mom was alive, cousins and grandparents and sisters and stuff - they were the world around me. There was no question of love, and I'm not even sure if children know how to feel that emotion. There was a bond, but not love as I know it now.
After she died, the family fell apart like petals off a cut flower. One by one until there was just a brownish center sitting in dank water. It's only as a teenager that you start comprehending emotions - at least in my case. By the time I started feeling them, family wasn't around to receive them.
At eighteen, I gave birth to a girl. While I didn't really know why, I knew I couldn't raise a child. I thought about it in terms of money and education, but it was really an issue of mental stability. I had years of work to do on my brain before I'd be ready to have anything of worth to offer someone.
I never felt torture about my decision. I gave the baby to a couple I chose, knowing she'd have a good life and would maybe not end up as messed up as I was.
So, scroll ahead 16 years. Here I am, this woman of the world with a (now) sound head on her shoulders and what should happen but a friend of a 16 year old girl asks me what I think of adoption.
What happened was the baby - who is not a baby anymore - got curious about where she came from, found some papers, and found me on Facebook. I mean, really - it's not like I was hiding, and there are only so many Trudy Smocks in the world. One of her friends contacted me - probably at her bidding.
But it hit me like Slap Bet (honestly, How I Met Your Mother is a highly enjoyable show, regardless of the typical sitcom tropes). Wham. I handled it maturely and cut off communication because she's a minor and I don't want to intrude on their family. However, I've spent the intervening time internet stalking her.
I don't know how I feel. Connection, definitely. According to Pinterest, she and I have similar interest. I pore over her pictures. I read her Twitter and realize she's probably struggling with some of the emotional problems I went through. But love? Something. I feel something.
Frustration over being mature and not reaching out to her led me to the other link in this abandonment chain - my father.
Family legend paints my father as a monster. Maybe he was - but I was feeling like rowboat in the middle of the ocean. Even if he was a monster, maybe he could be my monster. Maybe he could give me a reference point of who I could be.
I found him - nothing is sacred on the internet. We're emailing back and forth. I'm mature and accepting - he's loving and regretful. I doubt his love because he doesn't know me, but who am I
He praised me, and it brought me to tears. I HATE that it affected me. It's like I'm that therapy poster child with daddy issues.
It makes me afraid to ever talk to the girl I gave birth to - how badly could I make her feel about not being as self-actualized as she thinks she is? Would she have irrational anger that I'm not more of an obvious mess?
Will she abandon any children she has? Is it in our blood?
It's not all bad. My father is actually pretty brilliant, has a Master's degree, seems concerned, proud, nervous - all of the right things. My guess is that he wasn't a monster, or no more than I've been.
Maybe some people have to be cut out of the skin they're born in by the, "...slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," before they can become the people they want to be. And maybe it's best if they don't drag children down with them.
I don't have answers, because whether you stay or go, you'll cause pain.
I normally don't write about this kind of stuff. Sharing something on the internet... I don't know - cheapens it? This time, I feel like I want some sort of record of it.
Also, maybe the right people will find this.
So, a few things not everyone knows about me:
- I never knew my father. He left when I was less than two and my mother asked him to stay away - which he did. I had a few pictures and a sense of who the rest of my family thought he was.
- I had a baby that I gave up for adoption when I was 18.
- My mom died when I was almost 14, and I moved in with my sister.
- I moved out of my sister's house at 17, and haven't had much connection with any family since then.
I never really had a strong familial bond. While my mom was alive, cousins and grandparents and sisters and stuff - they were the world around me. There was no question of love, and I'm not even sure if children know how to feel that emotion. There was a bond, but not love as I know it now.
After she died, the family fell apart like petals off a cut flower. One by one until there was just a brownish center sitting in dank water. It's only as a teenager that you start comprehending emotions - at least in my case. By the time I started feeling them, family wasn't around to receive them.
At eighteen, I gave birth to a girl. While I didn't really know why, I knew I couldn't raise a child. I thought about it in terms of money and education, but it was really an issue of mental stability. I had years of work to do on my brain before I'd be ready to have anything of worth to offer someone.
I never felt torture about my decision. I gave the baby to a couple I chose, knowing she'd have a good life and would maybe not end up as messed up as I was.
So, scroll ahead 16 years. Here I am, this woman of the world with a (now) sound head on her shoulders and what should happen but a friend of a 16 year old girl asks me what I think of adoption.
What happened was the baby - who is not a baby anymore - got curious about where she came from, found some papers, and found me on Facebook. I mean, really - it's not like I was hiding, and there are only so many Trudy Smocks in the world. One of her friends contacted me - probably at her bidding.
But it hit me like Slap Bet (honestly, How I Met Your Mother is a highly enjoyable show, regardless of the typical sitcom tropes). Wham. I handled it maturely and cut off communication because she's a minor and I don't want to intrude on their family. However, I've spent the intervening time internet stalking her.
I don't know how I feel. Connection, definitely. According to Pinterest, she and I have similar interest. I pore over her pictures. I read her Twitter and realize she's probably struggling with some of the emotional problems I went through. But love? Something. I feel something.
Frustration over being mature and not reaching out to her led me to the other link in this abandonment chain - my father.
Family legend paints my father as a monster. Maybe he was - but I was feeling like rowboat in the middle of the ocean. Even if he was a monster, maybe he could be my monster. Maybe he could give me a reference point of who I could be.
I found him - nothing is sacred on the internet. We're emailing back and forth. I'm mature and accepting - he's loving and regretful. I doubt his love because he doesn't know me, but who am I
He praised me, and it brought me to tears. I HATE that it affected me. It's like I'm that therapy poster child with daddy issues.
It makes me afraid to ever talk to the girl I gave birth to - how badly could I make her feel about not being as self-actualized as she thinks she is? Would she have irrational anger that I'm not more of an obvious mess?
Will she abandon any children she has? Is it in our blood?
It's not all bad. My father is actually pretty brilliant, has a Master's degree, seems concerned, proud, nervous - all of the right things. My guess is that he wasn't a monster, or no more than I've been.
Maybe some people have to be cut out of the skin they're born in by the, "...slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," before they can become the people they want to be. And maybe it's best if they don't drag children down with them.
I don't have answers, because whether you stay or go, you'll cause pain.
I normally don't write about this kind of stuff. Sharing something on the internet... I don't know - cheapens it? This time, I feel like I want some sort of record of it.
Also, maybe the right people will find this.
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