Cue Staind

It’s been a while… (Stupid intro, I know, but if the music fits…) So, I’ve been doing basic life things in my absence. I wish I could say that I’ve been busy doing super important, life-altering things, but alas, not this time.

In the time I’ve been away, I firmly believe my cat has gained at least another two pounds. Despite his newfound adventures of hunting squirrels, his pesky rolls have taken over. But I love him so much for it. What a bizarre society we live in; animals and babies are considered more adorable the fatter they are while the rest of us are generally shamed. But even more so, we tend to ignore the health risks associated with weight gain in animals. I took my cat to the vet about a year ago now, and you know what he kept saying? “He’s very fat.” Had to get his blood drawn, but alas he “is too fat.” We placed his gorgeous self on the veterinarian scale, and well… the scale disappeared. It was a funny, but frustrating experience. And it made me realize that even though I adore his fatness, he should probably lose some pudge to stay with me as long as possible.

So he’s been on a kitty diet for about a year now, and uh…. a good pet mom I am not. He has yet to lose any weight, but I’m happy to report that he still thoroughly enjoys his little outdoor adventures. If you’re still here by now, I imagine you’re wondering why I’m ranting about my fat household pet. Well, it’s a two-fold answer really…. a.) He is a huge (*insert childish giggling*) part of my life, and b.) A recent experience with him was one of the best I’ve had in my time away from blogging.

“Mom, stop taking my fucking picture.”

Let’s set the seen, shall we? It’s a bright, and I mean BRIGHT sunny day here in trashlyvania. (I’ll move one day, I promise.) And I’m sitting in our destroyed lawn chairs (thank you squirrels and fat asses alike), with a watchful eye on the furry devil himself. Guenivar* is lazing around in the grass, plopping about here and there. Nibbling on it a bit. And then smiling at me occasionally (I swear the emotions this cat has are eerily human; I’ll insert pictures as proof.) And then he hears them… the chittering little bastards themselves. Verruca Salt would have a fucking field day. Here they are, on this big ass tree right outside of our apartment; squirrels. They see the cat, and he sees them. So his not-so-little butt starts to wiggle in excitement. His face becomes a hunter’s mask. The game is afoot! The mighty fattuccini waits for the perfect time to pounce. The squirrels figure this cat isn’t a great hunter, so they come down so far on the tree that the cat could reach them if he were to jump up on it, fortunately, he has several feet before he can get to the tree in question. But he’s gearing up for it anyway, I can tell. And then…. he bolts!!

“Ha, you can’t do work anymore!”

I wish I could tell you this is one of those stories where the overweight, unpopular kid* proves all of them wrong, but um… no. The cat LUNGES through the grass, love handles bouncing, tail wagging; He is my mighty hunter. And just as he touches the bottom of the tree, the furry little shits take off up it. But they proceed to remain just close enough that he could reach them, if only he could climb. And they….laugh?! Their little chitters turn maniacal as they stare down the cat circling the tree. And Guen, being a cat, looks for the ideal spot to start climbing. Cats can climb. They’re dangerous. But it seems after the constant laughter from above, and three thorough laps around the tree, he decided he could not complete the task at hand. There is simply too much weighing him down, humiliation included.

“I’ll get those fucking squirrels” Snnnooorrreee

I would think that this would be the point where any animal either pursues the creatures anyway, or lays down waiting for them. But not my cat. He plants his paws firmly in the grass, turns his head to face me directly, squints his eyes, and SCREAMS. I swear the meow that left his body was one that only parents of teenagers would understand. Mooooooooooooommmmmmmm!!!! This damn cat was throwing a fit that he couldn’t catch the squirrels, and called for his mom to help him. But damn those pesky squirrels…

Your judgmental uncle chilling in the living room on Thanksgiving.

Which brings me to another endeavor of my meager time away. My own weight. I am someone who has yo-yo’d my weight consistently in life. I’ve been pretty damn tiny, and pretty damn hefty. Currently, I am at the heaviest I’ve ever been, and it has brought with it a lot of self-confidence issues. Being someone who doesn’t have loads of that to start, it’s been… soul crushing. Let’s touch on the societal part of this… I do not think being “fat” is bad. I firmly believe there are many people who are very happy, very healthy, and very big. They are beautiful, and they are great. But I… am not one of them. I’ve always felt the most like myself when I was at the lower end of the scale. Which is something I want to get across to anyone that reads this. Fat-shaming is not okay, skinny-shaming is not okay, harassing people about their eating habits is not okay. It is fine to be heavier, skinnier, whatever, as long as you are happy, healthy, and feel like yourself. Yes, there can be health risks associated with weight gain, but that doesn’t mean that being heavier is exclusively unhealthy. I know scientists and health gurus could probably argue with me, but that’s not what I’m here for. I just want you to know that you should only be adjusting your weight if it will make YOU feel better, not because of what society thinks. Be that gaining weight or losing weight. Do you. Be happy.

For shits and giggles because CAAAKKKEEE

I… am not happy. I feel like nothing fits me right, I am weak, and I just look…blah. And just like I’m trying to get my household pet in better shape, I’m starting to try to get my own ass in gear… again. Because this isn’t the first time. I hate when people act like once you get in shape, you’ll always be in shape. As if going to the gym and eating healthy will just stick with you for the rest of your life. I firmly disagree that you just become that way. The reality is you can create better habits and follow all of those habits, etc. loyally for YEARS, and still fall back. It is not something you work towards for years, and then just DO for the rest of your life. It is something you have to actively choose to do every fucking day.

I used to be itty bitty. I went for an hour long run every night after work (actually for depression and anger issues, but that’s for another time), and I generally tried to watch my portion sizes with any food I ate. When given the option, I chose healthy foods. I did additional workouts with any time I had. Several years were spent this way. And I spent another portion of my life eating junk, and not working out at all. Then a few more spent working in warehouse where I did a lot of working out, and minimal eating (but what I ate wasn’t healthy). And then… a year of no real working out, and eating habits out the fucking window.

In all my years of existence, I have spent time fighting to get back into shape in some way. I have done the calorie tracking, the cheat days, etc. I won’t lie and say I’ve done everything, because I haven’t. I will not go vegetarian or vegan; I like my meat (ahem). And I’ve had several physical issues over the years that I’ve worked through when working out. I digress. Point is, that my hopelessly overweight cat looks back at me and calls for me to help him catch these damn squirrels, and I can’t even catch my breath. I am hopelessly addicted to sugar (like a large portion of Americans, unfortunately.) I take meds that affect my weight (again, common), and I have stress factors that throw EVERYTHING off (can I say common again?!)

I am currently in the process of yet again getting back into working out. But I’m hoping to start joining a few classes because I’d like a support system and cannot afford a personal trainer. Additionally, I’ve decided to track my calories again, but without beating myself emotionally if I go over occasionally. That’s the important thing, people. Destroying yourself for faltering is not going to help you; it just makes you hate yourself so much that you fail. I could be wrong, but I don’t think my cat belittles himself for sneaking into the pantry at night and eating every ounce of his treats. Nor do I think he’s dwelling on thoughts of needing to work out more while he’s cleaning his butthole. He just doesn’t care. He understands that he is too out of shape to get the squirrels, but rather than internalize his self-hatred, he just looks to his mom and screams for help. We should all take some inspiration from our pawed companions. Maybe don’t go licking your asshole, or eating your own shit, but, ya know.. just chill out every once and a while. Know that you want/need to adjust your weight, but that it’s okay to ask someone for help with something you can’t do quite yet.

I am mad at myself for not uploading any blogs for a while, but I’m trying to take some of my own advice and not hound myself for it. I’m back bitches, and I hope to indulge you in many struggles and experiences in the future.

(There will be future updates on my weight loss struggle, and I hope to be a place of comfort and encouragement for anyone who may be taking the journey as well. Or for any self-betterment journey.)

Open Photo

** Guenivar was named by my father. His name is based on a series he read about a dark elf and his loyal animal companion, Guenivere. If you care to check it out, it’s “The Legend of Drizzt” by R.A. Salvatore.

** I was very much the overweight, unpopular kid in my earlier years, especially middle school. And in my experience I always wanted to be the one who broke stereotypes that were otherwise only realized in unrealistic Hollywood movies.

Published by Alex

A bit of a jumbled mess, I am an aspiring social media influencer eager to share my many hobbies with the world.

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