Broken Record : Forty, Fat and Fucked

So last week I was at the mall and stumbled upon a big clearance sale and bought 4 new shirts in my regular size. Actual button up shirts as opposed to the usual T-Shirts that I wear, though in full disclosure they were all light flannel skater shirts since I’m stuck in 1993 fashion wise. As far as impulse buying goes, it felt pretty adult since usually impulse buying means I need to buy every Led Zeppelin album on vinyl RIGHT NOW.

I get home and not a single one of those fucking shirts fit. Since they were clearance, there are no returns. They reside in the pile of other shirts in the bottom of my closet. The “I’m To Fat Now They’re Too Tight” pile that show not only my belly, but my diamond cutter tits. I hate that pile because I hate what I have become. The past couple years have been more stressful than I realized/admitted due to my Dads health issues, and I dealt with that stress via eating. I knew I was doing it, but I just didn’t care. You end the day defeated over something stupid like bus connections not working out and the snack of chips becomes eating an entire bag of Doritos with an ice cream chaser and maybe some cookies. On top of a double portion supper. You feel gross from being so full, but you also kind of feel good since the giant lonely hole inside of you is temporarily filled. Part of my dealing with stress resulting on my bailing out on so many plans with friends that my friends eventually bailed on me. I get it, and don’t blame them. I’ve been a real asshole and unreliable the past bunch of years. I apologize to all of them, they know who they are.

Anyways, this massive, visual/physical realization of just how fat and shit I’ve gotten arrived a couple weeks after I turned forty. The week I turned forty was about as emotionally polarizing a week one could have, I celebrated my dads birthday on Fathers day while he was in hospital, and he passed away later in the week, on the following Sunday. That’s a whole other blog. Mum and I are doing okay. Many people seem to go crazy when they hit forty, but like all birthdays, I don’t really care about it. All the horrible things that men stress about, like hair loss and bizarre hair growth, all happened to me early on and didn’t phase me then. What I am feeling though is that this is a bit of a new beginning. After nine years of living with someone fighting cancer, it feels like I got out of a relationship and I’ve forgotten who I am. It’s weird. So the feelings of loss, the sadness of missing Dad are at odds with feeling like I’m “free” or something. Which is probably why “Guilt” is a part of mourning and people end up in therapy. I’m trying not to feel bad about it, and mostly not.

So this is a big long ramble to write down my decision to try to change for the better, agian for the hundredth time. I tried it years ago on the old Benrik cult site, and it mostly didn’t work personally for me in the real day to day life but did fantastically in other more cerebral/emotional ways in that I do have some great faraway friends I miss seeing but love hearing from. So ultimately it was a win. The plan moving forward is to slowly get back into an exercise regime with a side of eating properly in an effort to lose some of this weight so that FUCKING SHIRTS FIT AGAIN. FOR CRISSAKES! This is where I’m fucked, supposedly once you hit about 40, you’re done as far as how much your body can rebound from being a lazy bum. I already wake up with odd pains. I’m hoping it’s from inactivity and that exercise will stop that from happening. I hate this already. I just want shirts to fit properly. Is that too much to ask? (YES)

I’m also going to go back to saying yes to most offers of doing things, not that I expect many offers (or necessarily want them… I’m pretty much a hermit). In the past, it was hard to plan things in advance. I had to miss Nick Cave last month despite having a ticket for an example, due to dad stuff (not a complaint). It’s why I’ve been horrible at accepting invites. I’ve had to bail on so many people after accepting or planning things that I stopped accepting so as not to have to bail. I missed a dear friends wedding, The situation and me sucked. I kind of have free time again now that the days aren’t filled with planning and participating in hospital visits. I still have work on my plate, and helping mum, but still have more options. So I’m going to try to get out more. It has to help.

I’m hoping by writing this, I’ll actually stick to it. My brain is wired to “fuck it” mode though, so I guess we’ll see. I’m over-emotional.

Eventually this “getting out” more might lead to dating again. I don’t even know if that’s still an activity anymore. That’s a topic for another blog.

My midlife crises is dealing with body issues and adopting some cats. I’m basically “Ally McBeal”.

Movies will return next blog. I only had 3 or so titles, so not worth posting about until I get at least 5. I still feel the need to blog at least once a week.

The End

2 thoughts on “Broken Record : Forty, Fat and Fucked

  1. Well this all sounds very positive! I have 6 months until I turn 40, and did have a vague plan to lose some weight and get a bit healthier – like you, I’m not completely confident of my ability to carry through with it though. I think that saying YES and getting out in the world will probably result in less eating and feeling better about yourself generally anyway. You have been an amazing son, and now it’s time for you to get those diamond cutter tits back in the game xx

    • Starting to exercise after not exercising for while is the WORST. I always feel like a total failure. Last night I did a little bit and this morning I feel all “Will that didn’t do anything” even though I know it can’t possibly do anything overnight. Stupid brain. I do find that fitness trackers actually help since it’s something to poke at during the day so you’re constantly reminded that you’re attempting something.

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