Chicken Sandwiches and Chocolate Beer


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It’s easy to forget how good you feel after you continue the pattern of healthy eating and exercising. Especially for those of us who are true food addicts. Turning back to our old habits of fried chicken sandwiches and bingeing on netflix while eating ice cream is way easier then sticking with our new habits. Turning back to food is like wrapping a big blanket around yourself and settling in for a long cold snow with a pillow and a good book. That is what I’m struggling with right now. In the past year, in which I have gained back almost 30 pounds of  the 90 I lost, I have had a lot of pain, heartache, and loss. I fought the urge to turn to food. There were nights I cried while drinking chocolate beer and eating nachos on my couch, knowing I was falling back into my bad habits. Tears of sorrow, and pain, not just for losing my mother, and a boyfriend, but some nights, they were tears for myself, for being a failure, for being the fat kid, and staying the fat kid. I watched as the scale ticker went up, up, up every time I got on it. Every morning I would wake up, a new day. Eating healthy all day until my way home. Then it would hit. That urge, now it wasn’t only food calling to me, but the delicious buzz of chocolate alcohol. The devils drink. A beer, a smoke, a chicken sandwich with large fry. This was a recipe for disaster. I hit bottom, again on the one year anniversary of my mothers death, I had a drinking problem, an eating problem, and I had started to pull back from people who I cared about. Including my child.. I had to make a decision. At the very least pick a vice, one and only one.  I picked food. To me it was the lesser of the evils. I quit drinking, quit smoking, and decided it was OK to eat.


Now some of you might be judging me at this point. And that’s ok, do what you have to do. Everyone has their own ways to cope with things. I fight every day to be happy. After battling the past year with all the horrible things that have gone on, (all of which are NOT listed above) I have had to learn that the most important thing is to make it through the day, and to worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Right now, in my life, I need my food blanket. I’m not perfect, and I wish I could get up the energy to hit the gym for an hour 5 times a week like I did before. But right now, I just can’t. But I am excited for when I can! And I’m going to manage my eating the best I can to not put the weight back on until I’m ready to hit the healthy life again full force.


So no one understands crazy like crazy…


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I’ve bounced back and forth on ideas about today’s posts. I can’t decide about how personal I want to make this blog. I know I want it to be for myself. But I figure people are not that intrigued by my mostly ordinary, not so extraordinaire adventures. Though I do have many stories I will eventually share with you that I’m sure will leave your jaw on the floor.

I don’t want this blog to be just the random rants of a crazy fat woman. What I do want is this to be an open forum for discussion, support, and constructive criticism into the depths of our over weight psyches, and really our life struggles.

And I don’t want to just limit this inward soul searching and analysis to the over weight visitors here in 250 land. I would invite anyone who struggles from diseases’ such as over eating, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, co-dependency, addiction, please join us. Comment, constructively criticize, be honest with us and yourself. Because no one understands crazy like crazy.

And I’m sure at some point we may have to agree to disagree. But what fun would the world be if we didn’t?

So to get discussion started I want to start off by telling you about my, to date, craziest moment.

After consuming about 4 bottles of wine with my equally insane, and pushing the limits of alcoholism, as well best friend. I arrived home at 3 am, crying, on the floor in the hallway of my bedroom. I called my sister, told her I didn’t know how much more I could take of life and my broken heart, and it seemed she instantly arrived on my door step        ( apparently at some point I had passed out against the wall, while still on the phone with her). She, as the phenomenal person she is, drug my fat arse into the kitchen, forced a totinoes pizza down my throat, to soak up the monstrous amount of alcohol in my blood, and then threw me in the bed. That was the day (well the worst one so far) that I hit rock bottom.

Had a hell of a hangover as well

Haven’t drank wine since…seriously

Share with us your crazy moments in comments. Judge free zone. Were all a lil bonkers in 250 land. Lets laugh at each other 🙂


Uhhh, this is NOT me BTW lol


So I was a fat kid…


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I always remember being fat. In preschool I can remember kids calling me names and teasing me about my weight. Now looking back on it, in pictures of myself when I was little, I don’t seem any bigger then the other kids. At least not until I was about 8. Then you can really start to see the difference between me and the other kids in school photos. Pudging belly, still rounded baby face. And to add insult to injury, we were poor. So to compliment my widening belly, I was also almost always outfitted in sweat pants and a sweat shirt, that my grandmother, who worked for Hanes Mill, got from the discount store at the mill.



Here I am in all my chubby glory…. sheesh, the eighties

I grew up in a generation of kids who were raised by the first generation of single, working, professional mothers. Mom’s of the 80’s, who were independent, career women. Women who had been abandoned by their husbands. Men who, unlike their fathers, did not stick around and take care of their families, no matter how unhappy they were. So my Mom focused on providing for me, and did a hell of a job. She taught me how to be responsible, independent, and strong. But she in turn, did not remember to teach me how to take care of myself, because she didn’t remember to take care of herself. There was no time for that.

Many nights, dinner consisted of a slice (or 2 or 3) of white bread, topped with pasta sauce from the jar and a slice of american cheese, toasted in the oven. Or a box of mac and cheese with cut up hot dogs in it. Hey, I don’t blame her. I’m a single Mom now, and it’s hard as hell. She was in the generation of the “founding fathers” of single motherhood. She had no one to teach her the rights and wrongs of how to balance being soccer Mom and working Mom.

So needless to say with Mom working all the time, I didn’t do sports or any type of activities like my friends did. No cheerleading or softball. I finally did play a year of softball my fifth grade year, but I was so big by that time, almost 100 pounds, the equipment and uniforms didn’t fit me right, and some of the other girls made fun of me. So that put an end to that.

The point of this small tale is not a sob story of a fat kid. But what I hope to be the basis of this blog. Most people don’t just magically get fat as an adult. They learn poor eating habits as a child and most people, who truly struggle with weight, do so their whole lives. People turn to food for different reasons. Boredom, trauma, comfort, distraction. The list goes on. In my case it was a mixture of comfort and boredom, from the loneliness of being a latch key kid. And for me, eventually food turned into a safety blanket when I was sad, mad, or hurt. It also turned in to a way to celebrate success. Something good happens? Lets go out to dinner to celebrate! Food was always there for me, when no one else was. And it still is.

This way of thinking is what over weight people struggle with. Food truly is an addiction. And it’s not like a cigarette or a beer. You can’t live without it, you have to eat to live. To date, food is my number one nemesis, and my best friend.

I’m writing this blog in hopes of getting it all out there, from the point of view of a fat kid. A fat teenager.  A fat adult. A constant dieter. A weight loss seesawer. A food addict. And maybe there are people out there who can relate. Maybe we can help each other. And maybe it will help others understand the struggle of being overweight in the world that never stops judging us by the way we look.