STICKY: Happywashed

I made this blog to vent the good and the bad and the in-between.

I won’t be prevented from venting the bad.

I’m not writing this to gain followers or build up my writing cred. It’s to keep myself alive.

I’m sick of the notion that everything we put out on the internet must be sterile and appropriate. It drives me nuts that an entire part of the human psyche, what we call illness, must be corralled into dark corners and never shown the light of day. My illness isn’t dangerous to anyone. I will never hurt anyone. And I won’t pretend that my life is light and happiness even when it isn’t. That, to me, is toxic. More toxic than anything I might post here in a bad mood.

I’ll compromise though; I’ll leave the venting posts up for a day or two, then mark them private. Then I know someone might have read one. Someone might know about how I’m feeling, and that’ll be enough to keep going.



Really feeling the isolation today.

I need to do something other than ruminate on it. It’s difficult not to.

I “stalk” the Couple and my husband’s other friends. Mostly, I just peek in at the chat they all post in every day. It’s a double-edged sword: I get that old feeling of closeness again for a few minutes, while still knowing that I’m not one of them, won’t ever be one of them. My husband also left his FB open on an old PC that I now use solely for looking at his friend’s FB pages. I could temper that by saying I only really boot that machine up every few months, but it all sounds bad. I just can’t let go. These people that I deludedly saw as family, as close to me, when they never felt that way towards me. The more you need people, the more they keep you at arm’s length.

I ponder whether it would be better to not peek in on their lives, to not get that fake boost of inclusion. I haven’t come to a decision yet.

I feel the divide between me and my expected gender so sharply. Being more like a male in terms of interests and socialization style, but expected to aspire to beauty and relationships. I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t want to have to care about dresses and makeup. But if I don’t, the isolation grows even stronger. I long for platonic male friendships so that I can interact in the way that suits me, but it won’t ever happen. The mismatch between what I am (female) and the way I communicate (masculine) is too off-putting. Just be more feminine, right? Be yourself. No, not like that.

It rests heavily in me. Knowing that simple human connection is so far away. Just buy the paints and powders and put it on your face, then they’ll accept you. Pretend to be ignorant about what you’re knowledgeable about and defer, then they’ll like you. Don’t pretend to be more than you are. You’re just a woman.

How do I break free?

Will I ever belong anywhere?

Is fiction and the internet my only relief?

Why do I have to be beautiful? Can’t I just be me, first?

Better Days (Structure)

Long time no post. A lot has happened since I last wrote.

I’ve lost about twenty pounds. All of my work pants were falling off my body, so I went shopping Saturday for new pants. I’m wearing these new fuzzy trousers that feel so good. Mmm.

Last week, hubby and I finally found the doggo of our dreams. He’s a Newfoundland, about 9 months old and is currently about 82lbs. He’ll get up to 130-150 lbs eventually. Because they get so big, Newfies go through a prolonged puppyhood. He’s very calm and even tempered, but is very much still a puppy. We’re currently teaching him to sit, which he has already pretty much mastered. He needs more training, but the personality he has now is fantastic and when he is a grown dog, will be even better.

The dog is keeping us busy, and since I’ve been busy, I haven’t had time to ruminate. I’ve had to *do* things, and not overthink it, or put it off. Maybe that’s the secret- keep yourself busy so that you can’t slip into these dark moods.

Sunday night I kind of slipped into a foul isolationist mood, though. I guess it’s bound to happen. I wonder sometimes if it’s something I’ll have to struggle with my whole life. I am getting better at recognizing that if it’s something I don’t want to do, that it’s something I have to do right now. I can’t let my inner depressive procrastinator rule my life.

Maybe things aren’t so bad for me. Maybe some of my observations about life as a plain, larger woman are correct. But the way I obsess over it does more damage than the snubbing and patronizing behavior of other people. I can’t control the way people think. I can only control how I react.

I’ve been doing better at work, too. I’ve become engaged again in what I do, and speaking to other people more and more, less resentful of having to tear myself away from the computer and talk to coworkers. Mornings are less and less hateful for me. I take getting up early in stride, just something I have to do. Not something to resent.

I need boundaries, I need restrictions, I need deadlines. When given freedom to rise and go to sleep as I please, I abuse it, which is why I got in trouble at work and lost that privilege. When I’m feeling empty and alone, the solution isn’t to isolate myself and beg for time to myself when Husband inevitably comes to call. I take undue advantage of the tolerance and sympathy of others for my issues.

So my next goal is this: if I feel resistance to a task, it means I immediately need to do it, no matter how hateful it feels, no matter no much I want to slump into a depressive hole. As time has demonstrated, even things that feel impossible (getting to work on time every day) can be accomplished if I *just do it.* If I had more money, I’d hire Shia Labeouf to follow me around and yell “JUST DO IT” at me.

Another goal, declutter the house. As I’ve mentioned to Husband, when I was poor having more stuff made me feel better. Now, when money isn’t much of a concern, all the clutter makes me anxious and unhappy. Plus, it’ll make it more difficult to move one day.

All things considered, maybe I’m slowly getting to a better place.

Visible Collarbones (Another Diet Post)

So I’ve lost 15 lbs, give or take, since October 6th. Adjusting to the ketogenic diet takes a few days, and during those days you encounter something called the keto flu. Your caveman body is pissed you’re not giving it delicious, rare carbs to run off of. It doesn’t want to run off of fat stores, it wants rice and bread and potatoes. Feeling crappy because you’re craving carbs makes it easy to fall off the wagon. And being sick makes it worse. Due to being sick and having a Halloween party, I’ve relapsed on carbohydrates roughly three times, and had to go back through keto flu three times.

Currently past the keto flu yet again, because handing out candy bars on Trick or Treat on Tuesday was too much to handle after last Saturday’s Halloween party. This is a bad time of year to diet. It also explains some of my unhinged posts from the last couple of weeks, all written in the darkest throes of metabolic unhappiness.

The process of losing weight and putting it back on and repeating that process ad infinitum is called yoyo-ing. I’m currently in a second run, having lost 100lbs and nearly putting it all back on, now taking it off yet again. Yoyoing is, overall, a terrible cycle to get stuck in. Loss of pride, having to buy larger/smaller clothes again, you name it. But the process, both gaining and losing weight, is somewhat pleasurable for me.

When losing weight, I get the excitement of checking the scale after a few days and watching my collarbones slowly emerge from blubber. There’s the prospect of allowing myself to shop for new clothes. Feeling how much lighter I am in every movement. Feeling less like I’m going to keel over due to blood sugar. Keto is like telling your pancreas to take a well-deserved break. Insulin? Eh, don’t need much at all- there’s very little carbs and sugar to handle. Another perk is a shrinking stomach- it doesn’t take much to make you full.

Gaining weight? The (seeming) positives are reduced mental load, not thinking about what and how much I eat, not thinking about anything much. Just going back to comfortable old habits that in the moment seem to help, but make things worse as days go by. Having the comfortable buffer of weight to keep other people away from me. I need to get away from that way of thinking for good.

My immune system took a dump after starting keto on October 6th. I developed an upper respiratory infection and still have a persistent cough. I also developed a cold sore, something that only happens when your immune system is too weak to fight it. I feel pretty good today, though. Hopefully I’ll be past all of this soon.


Long Black Days

It feels difficult to write here now. I had a couple of upbeat posts in a row, and I don’t feel allowed to post ranty posts if I’m having a less than stellar day.

Well, here goes. I have to tell myself not to care. It’s not like I have a following? This blog is for both good and bad days.

I’m wrestling with the knowledge that when it comes to me, everything I do is weird. Everything I say is weird. It doesn’t matter what it is. People assume the worst of me, and more and more I just want to be what they think I am. It’s easier than constantly fighting it.

If I had a child, the same thing would happen; everyone would assume the worst of me as a mother. I’d probably be fighting off CPS constantly on unfounded accusations.

Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about how all your coworkers treat you like someone to walk on eggshells around. Stop thinking about your cluttered, dirty home and unkempt yard that only you think about. Stop thinking about your sh1tty hair that doesn’t look good short or long. Stop thinking about the makeup and styling mandate you received because you were born with female body parts. Stop thinking about how no one will ever notice the good you do and say because you don’t look right.

When I think about these things, I want to hide. Hide away where no one can see me. No one to see my failures. My achievements? One, what achievements? And two, if I did have any it’d probably be better to keep them to myself. No one would believe it. No one ever has.

I want a do-over life. As a male. My socialization style would fit much better. It wouldn’t matter that my hair is short and I don’t wear makeup. Maybe I would *fit* for once.

I want to go home.


I always wonder about the villains in stories.

Heroines are boring. Just another perfect paper doll, here to save the day and have an adventure. Gotta defeat the ugly and evil witch, rival, queen, whatever.

I’d love to find a story where the blue-eyed paragon of femininity and obedience is cast down. Why are these attractive women always the ones who have the “power of love?”

If you’re not hot or lovable enough to be the heroine, be the wicked witch. The evil queen. I’ve come to understand that’s my place in life. Not that I particularly wanted it, it just seems to be the case that if you look a certain way, you are shoehorned into certain roles.

Now I guess I’ll own it.

Good Enough (Older)

I like getting older. I like that I am finally unlearning the toxic teachings of society and childhood. I like that I am finally beginning to like myself, as I am. I like that I am beginning to care less about the approval of random people. I like that I am becoming truly more self-sufficient, rather than pretending that I was while still desperately seeking the approval of others.

Toxic teachings. Society teaches that it’s okay to have masculine interests, as a female, as long as you’re still feminine in the ways that make you attractive to men. My stepmother taught me that it’s not okay to have masculine interests at all. For too long I’ve tied the approval of others to being overtly feminine, and felt distress at the lack of it in me. However would anyone like me? As my stepmother said to my face,”You will never have a husband or boyfriend.”

She tried so hard to transfer her insecurities to me and to some degree, succeeded. The agony of the last 18 years since puberty is proof of that. She saw that I wasn’t being harmed by advertising and my peers at a pace she approved of, and made sure to inject that internalized venom into me. So that I could be broken in the way she was broken. But some part of me has always resisted. The part of me that my stepmother hated. The part of me that understood her disgusting message and refused to submit.

Maybe I would have fewer issues with playing feminine if I fully internalized that message: You’re not good enough.

I ask these questions, assuming a female audience. How closely do you align to the ideal woman? Are you “woman” enough? Do you practice “hygiene” by buying and applying expensive cosmetics? Doubting your value even through powder and cream armor? How long would the beauty industry last if we were all happy with ourselves? What kind of world would it be if women could achieve the status of “real woman” without having to buy a product?

Tying the identity of “woman” to pricey clothes and beauty products is an insidiously evil thing.

Society and advertising will never stop with that message. It’s too profitable. I will encounter people every day that will be put off by me, unable to gauge my adherence to norms at a single glance. It really is their problem, not mine.

I find my feeting more and more each day as I reject the path laid before me. My time and money are my own, and I won’t give it to artificial insecurities any longer.

Getting older, to me, means getting better. Knowing, rather than trying to believe, that I *am* good enough.

Bump In The Road (Down with the Sickness)

Thursday I woke up with a tickle in my throat. Friday I woke up with a sore throat and light coughing. Monday, I called off work. Last night, I got closer and closer to sleep when the uncontrollable urge to cough yanked me out and away.

Today, I feel like a shambling zombie with abs sore from coughing.

Saturday and part of Sunday I went off of Keto, but have been back on it since. I haven’t weighed myself, though I have a feeling I am back in ketosis. My pants are super loose today and I keep pulling them back up, which is promising. I rolled with the punches and immediately transitioned back to keto Sunday night.

Upper respiratory infections suck. I went to urgent care on Friday, where I was told I likely had a virus. That means no antibiotics, just cough syrup and a weird lidocaine gargle liquid which has a disgusting consistency.

My throat isn’t sore anymore. I’m just coughing nearly 24/7.

Wugh. Yesterday didn’t seem too bad. It’s the poor sleep I got last night that’s killing me today. Protip: If you take extended-release mucinex before bed, don’t be surprised when the DM portion of the meds (suppresses cough) doesn’t take hold for hours. No more of that, just cough syrup.

Good news everyone. I just checked my cabinet at work and instead of the doctor-prescribed cough syrup, which makes me super drowsy, I have an old bottle of non-drowsy cough syrup. Today just got better.

Maybe a weight update tomorrow. These pants being loose is so awesome, though it means I need new pants.


Another Obsessive Weight Loss Post

Barely a week on keto and I’m fixated.

The nicest thing about weight loss is feeling your fatty fat begin to loosen up, becoming more squishy as it disappears.

I also look forward to being able to see my hand tendons and collar bones again.

Another nice thing, I have boxes of clothes to re-open and try on as time goes by.

A note to potential weight-losers: always weigh yourself after the daily deuce. I weighed myself today, only to be disappointed, then an hour later I used the bathroom. Oh well, maybe tomorrow I’ll get a number I like.

I do this. I get so excited at the weight loss process. What’s my number today? Are my clothes starting to feel loose? I always want these things to happen so fast that I forget about what I have to motivate me when I reach my goal weight.

That’s why I gained back the weight the first time. I was so fixated on the weight loss I gave no energy to the thought of maintenance.

I’ve got to remember my primary goal: don’t feel like sh1t anymore. That is a goal that can stand the test of time, I think.

Last night I did my two mile walk and I sailed through it, even the quarter-mile slope of doom. My heart rate was far lower than the previous walk, on Saturday. I may need to start intermittently jogging. Not too much, because this weight bouncing up and down on my joints isn’t good. Small transitions to more and more speed and distance.

I need to get on the squat rack at home. I’m not looking forward to the DOMs, the soreness that lasts days for me. But I’ve put it off long enough. I’ve got powder protein drink that is keto safe. Time to keep that lean mass while the fat disappears. The first time I lost weight, I was lifting and running regularly and I kept all of my lean mass, which tends to decrease along with fat on a diet.

The body fat analysis I paid for at my lowest weight (155) indicated I had 122 pounds of lean mass. Anyone who likes to tell me I don’t have a large frame, there’s your flucking evidence. There’s no fat in that number, just skin and bone and muscle. My body, without ANY fat, weighs as much as an average, slightly built female.

It will be extremely difficult to go below 155lbs, because 155-122=33 lbs of body fat. 33/155 total is about 22% body fat. That’s on the lower end of the “fitness” body fat percentage, getting close to “athlete” level body fat. I tried to go that low. I stalled for quite a long time at 155, though, and my body was happy at that weight. I was fit. I miss that, and I’ll go back. And I’ll stay there, because being fit, for me, means not feeling like sh1t.

I could easily go, “waaah, waaah, I won’t ever have the socially-coveted “120lbs or below” weight that a woman is supposed to have.” In fact I did whine about it, in the past. Not any more.

I’m going to make a promise to myself: When the weight comes off this time, I’ll get the excess skin taken off once I’ve kept the weight off for two years, minimum. I will get surgery, and I will not pay attention to idiots who tell me “excess skin is fine, don’t get surgery.” It’s my goddamn body and my goddamn money, and I will modify it as I please. Can you tell I’ve had this conversation before? Because I have.

Garbage-Eating Misery Sloth

The Saturday sleepover with highschool friends went better than expected. My fears of being mocked were unrealized. Whoo, that was nice. Seems like the punches come when I’m not expecting and prepared for them, most times.

Diet is going well. I couldn’t keep to it on Saturday night and my weight has remained steady since I checked on Friday. I’ve done this before, though, and tomorrow I will probably be down another pound of water weight.

Exercising has been making some difference there, too. I’ll go hit the treadmill at the tiny work gym after I get done helping a coworker.. Some time before 3, I guess.

On the sleep front, holy hell I didn’t sleep much this weekend, but I feel fine today. Weird!

I don’t have too much of a rant in me today. Must mean the diet change and trying to exercise might actually helping. My goal is an ongoing goal: don’t feel like sh1t by being a garbage-eating misery sloth. It’s important that I stick to this goal, every day, for the rest of my days.

It’s weird to feel this way. That I have a blog post open and I don’t have any inner venom to release. Is this what the alleged “normal” feels like?

Guess I’ll type up a big old to-do list.

Gather and sort laundry.
Wash all laundry.
Question Husband about his random piles of clothes on the floor in the bedroom. They stinking it up in there.
Go through workout clothes drawer and find what fits. What doesn’t fit can return to the drawer once 5-10 more lbs are lost.
Vacuum everywhere. Keeps the house smelling nicer.
De-cat-hair-ify the couch and the cat towers.
Change the bed sheets.
Make up a keto-flu broth to keep the cravings down.
Purge the cabinets of old and stale food I can’t eat anyway.
Locate all keto foods and centralize location.
Once the deck dries up from the constant rain, blow off the leaves.
Wipe down the walls and blinds in my office

Aww yeah. This blog is exciting. /s