Uncomfortable

Un-comfort-able.

I am in a "i can't be consoled" mood. For the last two days, I have been particularly prickly. The driver dropped me on the left, not the right side of the street, someone who had approval to charge my Amex didn't call me to tell me he was going to, I keep asking for everyone's manager/supervisor, "don't you know who I am" etc etc.

I am a total princess. A prickly prickly princess.

Today-- I walked over to the tasti-delite which has fat free fro-yo. And got a small. And then got a couple sugar free chocolates. And ate three, and then got sick on the subway. Prickly princess got pissy when the cute boys that were talking moved to rating celebrities. One comment too many and prickly princess, rather than shutting up and getting off at her stop, ate another sugar free chocolate. Then gave them to her diabetic landlady "look what I bought for you".

After eating a reasonable meal, and then the fro yo, I sat in the living room thinking I was uncomfortable. Not a feeling, physically, but emotionally. I am uncomfort-able. No one can comfort me. Nothing can comfort me. Food-- no-- sleep-- not really. Walking around-- not really.

Hmm.

I'm giving myself through this vacation to shake it off. And after, I am back to water, workouts, vitamins and meals on schedules. With none of this extra holiday crap.

Overall, I ate pretty well. Protein first. Some salad/veggies. Vitamins. But the peanut brittle and the toffee. "For the kids" as my mom said. In the kitchen. In Connecticut. The kids are in North Carolina.

There is so much anger there. "I'm going to slap your hands if you eat another piece". Then don't put it out. Don't tempt me and then punish me for eating what is terrible for me. Don't think that baking is going to bring this family together, that the perfect meal will make things all better, that I will be good, he will start listening, she will be less vindictive and he will be less angry. Don't think for one second that if you do it perfect, it will all come together and it will be perfect.

Because it never was. And it never will be.

It's scary to think my mom is one of those WLS'ers that has woken up to her life and has a husband who has been right there for her all along and she is disappointed and critical of him. "He's an old man". No, you married a 21 year old 38 years ago. Who has been patiently waiting for the last 27 years for you to want to be active and love him, and he you, and to do things together-- travel and dream and dance and show each other off. And you have gotten incredibly uncomfortably comfortable with each other. And now, give him a chance to catch up, because he will.

And the idea of my parents breaking up kills me. And I don't think it will happen, but it's all right there-- right? People fall out of love. People move on. And if they break up, I can't pick up the pieces of my broken father without weeping. Without hating her more than I do for her putting roadblock after roadblock up. Stop giving me your clothes that are too big. And making me try them on. And I don't want anything from you.

Except I want my mom. And I want you to want to hug me, and stop trying to buy me. Just love me. I may never get skinny. This is not a fucking competition. Stop treating like such. It kills me that you won't show your vulnerable side. That's the squishy-ness we keep trying to remember that's underneath the prickly thorn throwing darth vader you show to us.

Just fucking let me love you. Let him love you. Slow down. Take a breath. Stop worrying. And really, if you smack my hand, I swear to Christ, I may punch you square in the mouth.