The Chronicles of Schmarnia: My Imaginary Closet

"Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini.  Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone."

Under Imaginary Circumstances Here is the Reality Check

I have said goodbye to white flour and sugar.

I am not only restricting my daily calorie intake, but I am choosing healthy foods.

I am limiting my carb intake and choosing only complex low glycemic index carbs.

I am doing some sort of cardio activity for at least 60 minutes everyday.

I have started taking Ocella (Yaz generic) birth control to regulate periods and control cysts. 

When you have PCOS your goal can't be a number on the scale, because it's different for us…we can't just decide to follow the standard rules of weight loss and know there will be a payoff. There is no formula and there is no even trade. After you've exhausted all internet searches for the magic weight loss spell or how to sell your chubby soul to the perfect hormone balancing low glycemic devil...after you've weeded through every message board and forum full whiny giver-uppers...you either give up or you face reality. When you have PCOS your goal is to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your goal is to not give up even though doing all the "right" things have caused you to gain 10 lbs in less than one week rather than lose. When you have PCOS you have to work twice as hard, for twice as long, for half the results…if your lucky.    

So let's just say after a year of following my plan I am in the best shape possible…let's say I have miraculously lost 59lbs…even at 124lbs (the very lowest weight considered healthy for my height on the cruel BMI chart) there will still be irreversible damage on my body that I'll want to hide. All of you chubby wubbies who wear booty shorts and tight tank tops no matter your weight and believe bebe should have plus sizes…those of you who do not inspect how your backside looks before leaving your house…please go embrace your bodies somewhere else…I saw some rainbow and kitten themed background templates that will be perfect for your blog. 

I got my first cyst when I was 15, but my weight didn't get out of control until after I graduated high school…you know how it's said that God won't give your more than you can handle? So true…I could not have handled being fat in high school. In high school my weight fluctuated from 113-127lbs. I remember specifically, because  like many girls that age I was obsessed. Even at a tiny size I still hid plenty about my body. I am 5'6" which is about as average as you can get for a women, but I had reached that height by the age 11…intense growth spurts left my hips and thighs covered in stretch marks then at about age 14 cellulite developed in the area spanning my knees to my hips…it didn't matter that I was 113 lbs and it didn't matter what exercises I tried…I blame the chubby pale cellulite ridden women who came before me…bad genes I guess. I never look back and think, "gee I'll never be that tiny again, if only I embraced my flaws and wore a bikini". Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini.  Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone. I also have a scary varicose vein on my calf which I really don't want to share…I think there are some extremely painful treatments I can start saving up for to combat that sucker.  

The Chronicles of Schmarnia: My Imaginary Closet

"Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini.  Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone."

The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…

Age 31

Height 5'6"

Starting Weight 183 lbs

What the BMI chart has the nerve to say about me today 29.5=Obese

Today was my first day giving up flour and sugar...Success! Right now pausing is the key...if I can stop and think a moment then I can stop all together. The most I have ever weighed is 209lbs...I am 26 lbs away from that right now...thanks to PCOS I can put on 26 lbs in 2 months...I do not ever want to see 184 on the scale again, let alone 209. This thought process kept me on track today.

Well That's a Real Beach...

Why the sudden need to share my feelings and change my body? The worst possible thing that could happen to someone whose body immediately turns corn on the cob and potatoes (foods one might naively mistake for nutritious vegetables) into pale lumpy fat, has happened…we moved to a beach house. We are a 20 second walk from a beautiful white sand beach on the Atlantic in Florida. 


I am originally from California and though it gets hot in California, nobody can afford to live near the beach so I was never forced to wear a waterproof bra and panties in public next to tanner skinnier people. Besides, I lived in Northern California where beach activities included wetsuits, bon fires and your boyfriend's sweater…In Florida you always feel like you are trapped in the armpit of an obese woman who suffers from PCOS (ironically) and the water feels like a luke warm bathtub…there is absolutely no relief from the heat! Did I mention we moved to the shark attack capital of the world…not cool when you get your period every 9 days…Jaws is going to mistake me for a medium rare injured seal. Other side effects of living at the beach in Florida not associated with PCOS include sweaty tomato face instantly upon stepping outdoors along with fluffy frizzy hair resembling most male heartthrobs and porn stars alike from the 1970's. I am not so much fair complected as I am completely see through…my vascular system appears to be a road map running through my entire body. Thanks to the ridiculous amounts of testosterone I have, caused by PCOS, it doesn't matter how often I shave you can see my hair beneath my see through skin waiting to pop out…have you ever seen a freshly plucked chicken? This is what my legs look like. To survive in this climate I need to lose 50+ lbs and possibly invent a new hair product, because the one I need doesn't exist. 


Why the hell did I move here? Look, I wanted to move to Boise or Portland…the Pacific Northwest is heaven…if teenage vampires are happy there, my pale butt is sure to be too. The thought of wearing sweaters and jeans the majority of the year sounds glorious…I adore outdoor exercise and there is nothing better than the dry mild climate and walking trails of Boise, Idaho. Boise is where I originally lost the 50lbs I boast of and I just know if I could return it would happen again. My husband however thinks horrid heat actually feels refreshing and anything below 85 makes him completely emo, like hide the sharp objects emo. It is also his dream to be able to surf everyday and an affordable solution to his dream presented itself…I love him, so there you go. 


Not only did I move to the beach I pretended that my dreams were coming true as well. The first time we stood here on the white sand and stared at the crystal clear water I passed off the huge beads of sweat that rolled down my cheeks as tears of joy. As my husband explored our new territory in his wardrobe primarily consisting of shorts, I followed along in the only pair of pants that currently fit me…dark indigo jeans. A girl in my situation might jump at the chance to go shopping, but I just prayed he wouldn't notice that I was showing less skin than an Amish Eskimo in 90 degrees and 100 percent humidity…I don't want to wear clothes that are inappropriate for my body type simply because they are weather appropriate and I certainly don't want to argue with my husband about it…he doesn't understand. As we scouted the best surf spots I was noticing who my husband would soon be spending his days with as I spent mine in Air Conditioning on the computer sharing my damn "journey" with you…College Girls with bikini wedgies…I realized if your butt is flawless enough, your wedgies needn't be picked for they are hot. These girls weren't scared of tattoos or surfing (as I currently fear both, completely losing major points with my man). As we acquainted ourselves with our new life, I swallowed what I wanted to say and occasionally would squeeze his hand or hug his waist and say, "wow, I can't believe this is really happening". Which was technically the truth though my cheerful tone was lying.  My weight has gotten in the way of too many of my dreams, I'm not going to do that to him. 


Don't get me wrong I am not a complete martyr…I also know better than to debate this man while his dream is within grasp. My hubby is um, unpredictably passionate…he has a lot more moods (very moody-moods) than the average dude…When he is mad or sad he doesn't just wear his feelings on his sleeves, he gets a good smathering all over your shirt too. I get this amazing feeling from him though, like I am sharing my life with someone exceptional...a slightly unbalanced creative genius that won't be stifled. It's like I am raising Children with a young Tim Burton/Bob Dylan/Bill Murray Hybrid...it is insane and at times feels like too much to handle, but I am almost in awe and grateful that I was picked for this...a big part of my love is rooted in an intense desire to see what the hell will happen next! He is definitely the squeakier wheel of the relationship and there is literally no rest in our home unless he gets the oil. He is totally unaffected by my womanly wiles, tears don't strike a chord with him…they pluck a nerve and he gets angry. If I shared all the reasons I didn't want the same thing, we'd still be living at the beach, but instead of simply silently suffering, I'd be reminded daily of how I have stolen his joy and made him feel guilty…he's used the "stealing his joy/guilty" line over me not wanting him to spend money on a video game…actually I didn't say that he couldn't, I just played devil's advocate when he asked for my honest opinion…I can't imagine the fit he'd throw if I admitted I hate the heat and don't plan on wearing a pair of shorts let alone a bathing suit anytime soon. The thing is, he uses many of the same tactics I've used in past relationships to get my way…he is full of manipulations typically used by the gentler sex, yet he's a little louder, a little bit angry and a lot more stubborn than I ever was, so he wins. I know it seems like a lot of control to give someone, but I've learned a lot from our relationship…I am actually stronger which on the surface may seem like a contradiction…but let me tell you, it takes a lot more strength to relinquish control and to quietly concede. I've also come to realize that always getting my way left me unsatisfied. Sure I wish there was more balance and that I could find compassion and have my tears kissed away and be told things like, "it's not fair, you do work harder than your skinny friends." Those things just feel good in the moment…like chocolate cake…my excuses aren't tolerated here, so I am only left with a choice. 

Here's the choice…I want to change. My decisions aren't going to be based on what's fair, but based on what is required of me and only me…not the other girls who I believe have it easy, not an ignorant doctor who doesn't realize prescribing weight loss to someone with PCOS is like asking Murphy to poop out a catch 22 and having you swallow it 3 times daily, Not a husband or girlfriend full of unsolicited advice having never walked a day in my shoes. I'll write about it.