ashleekm
Major Changes.
Oct 04, 2012
I changed my major again. Because I can. Because my brain is all, "DO ALL THE THINGS!!!"
Education. BAM. Because I am the one you want indoctrinating, er I mean educating, your kiddos. I am their example, their therapist, their knowledge-source. BWAHAHA.
I'm really bad at evil laughs. Seriously, I end up sounding like Bowser's retarded cousin dragon.
I might have a job. Stocking healthy and beauty products at a local market. Hey, it's work, dude. And the company seems really cool. The manager was pretty legit and all like, "Yeah, I work around class schedules", and "I understand this isn't a forever job for most people". Well at least we understand each other.
I've been doing dishes and cleaning things and feeding my cat, (YEAH I GOT A CAT!), and just kind of being a motivation badass. I figure it's an upswing, it won't last forever, and I'mma milk the shit out of it while I still can. I do need to clean my cat's litter box, though. Might be why she's pissed at me.
So school is going well. I might have a job. There's a new man on the horizon, (more about that later). Shit is good.
0 comments
Education. BAM. Because I am the one you want indoctrinating, er I mean educating, your kiddos. I am their example, their therapist, their knowledge-source. BWAHAHA.
I'm really bad at evil laughs. Seriously, I end up sounding like Bowser's retarded cousin dragon.
I might have a job. Stocking healthy and beauty products at a local market. Hey, it's work, dude. And the company seems really cool. The manager was pretty legit and all like, "Yeah, I work around class schedules", and "I understand this isn't a forever job for most people". Well at least we understand each other.
I've been doing dishes and cleaning things and feeding my cat, (YEAH I GOT A CAT!), and just kind of being a motivation badass. I figure it's an upswing, it won't last forever, and I'mma milk the shit out of it while I still can. I do need to clean my cat's litter box, though. Might be why she's pissed at me.
So school is going well. I might have a job. There's a new man on the horizon, (more about that later). Shit is good.
Embracing v. Accepting
Aug 17, 2012
We were born to embrace, not accept it,
We were given nothing more, and so we kept it,
As the colors of our boots keep fading,
We live a life that we hate without saying,
Who would listen to the cries of a poor man?
We've never done nothing, how can we be something?
Every heart has an hour of existence,
Every breath brings the chance for redemption.
-NeedToBreathe, "Let Us Love"
I'm registered to go back to college. Yay.
I was looking towards Nursing, but there was a long and drawn-out contemplative process that lead me to change my mind as far as that career decision. I swearrr I'm not Borderline. (Only slightly). I registered for a transfer track to my dream school. The one that, had I given a damn during high school and actually done my homework and capitalized on what some educators called a "natural intelligence" (humble brag, I know), I would have applied and been accepted to AND attended.
The University of Michigan. Let me describe my love for THE U of M. Actually, that's impossible with mere mortal words. I am a born and raised Michigander, and I bleed maize and blue. It doesn't hurt anything that the school my family, (well, half of my family), decided to devote themselves to is both historically significant and nationally reconized in this country. Maybe you might not think so, but you know the "Green Peace" movement out of the 70's? Started in Ann Arbor at Michigan. Arbor Day is thanks to that. And you know all of those pictures you saw in your history textbooks of protestors in the 60's? Yeah, a lot of them were of a little organization called Students for a Democratic Society, SDS for short, an extremely important student group during the counter-cultural movement of the late 60's. And it started right on the doorstep of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.
So yeah, I'm a little proud of that school. I've had tons and TONS of friends attend, but my grades in high school were laughable, and Michigan is no joke. They look at academics, test scores, volunteering and community involvement.. they don't take admissions lightly. I had a snowball's chance in hell of being admitted immediately following high school, but that's okay with me. Why, you may ask? Well, immediately following high school, I went to a little Christian college outside of Jackson, Spring Arbor University. Now, I love SAU with all of my heart. It taught me so many important things and I met some of the best people there, but academically, I bombed out my first semester. As much as I miss SAU and regret passing that opportunity, I can't imagine the astronomical amount which I would've hated myself even more if that had been U of M. So I'm thankful I'm at the point in my life that I am now and will be even further before I finally set foot on that campus as a student. I'll take it more seriously, and I'll recognize what it means to my future.
Anyway. My point. I've been thinking lately about embracing life vs. accepting life. How many obese people get caught and trapped in the cycle of just accepting reality as it is. This is how things are, and they're not going to change, I might as well just find peace with that. I have actually HEARD those words from myself and others before, and seen it reflected in countless others attitudes.
It's horrifically sad, to be honest.
Most of us inherited brokenness, anger, dysfunction, dependence, addiction... and worse still, many of us were robbed of the necessary skills to truly become a whole person as an adult. So many people who battle eating disoders and obesity were never really taught how to function in this society. We weren't told we were beautiful or worthy or enough or capable. We were made to feel as though we were too much and not enough, all at the same time.Too much to handle, not enough to care about.
So where's rock bottom? That's what I want to know. For most, it was fairly soon prior to or fairly soon after the day of surgery. For some, it was the morning of the surgery. But what about me? I feel like an outsider. The only way to go up is to truly get down to the bottom. And I wonder if I'm alone in thinking, "Have I reached that bottom?" Sometimes I think I have. As bad as things have gotten, they've never been as bad as when I was seventeen, severely malnourished and starving and sitting inside a psych facility. They've never been that bad again. But they haven't exactly been glowing, either.
For some reason, I think I get this picture in my head that when a person hits rock bottom and then decides to fight for life and happiness and joy and peace, that from that day on things take on a new beauty and purpose and that person, even on bad days thereafter, is motivated by some inner drive to see things in happen in their life that they know were meant to happen. Honestly, I blame this perception on movies.
I want that. I want the drive. I want the spark to ignite into a full-fledged fire. I want to chase a passion. I want to be driven by a purpose. I want to see beauty and hope in the every day. I want to be at peace. I want to journal and do yoga and meditate and have good hair and no psoriasis and be able to shop in normal people's stores and be able to take a few things for granted in life. Personally, I think that sounds fair.
0 comments
We were given nothing more, and so we kept it,
As the colors of our boots keep fading,
We live a life that we hate without saying,
Who would listen to the cries of a poor man?
We've never done nothing, how can we be something?
Every heart has an hour of existence,
Every breath brings the chance for redemption.
-NeedToBreathe, "Let Us Love"
I'm registered to go back to college. Yay.
I was looking towards Nursing, but there was a long and drawn-out contemplative process that lead me to change my mind as far as that career decision. I swearrr I'm not Borderline. (Only slightly). I registered for a transfer track to my dream school. The one that, had I given a damn during high school and actually done my homework and capitalized on what some educators called a "natural intelligence" (humble brag, I know), I would have applied and been accepted to AND attended.
The University of Michigan. Let me describe my love for THE U of M. Actually, that's impossible with mere mortal words. I am a born and raised Michigander, and I bleed maize and blue. It doesn't hurt anything that the school my family, (well, half of my family), decided to devote themselves to is both historically significant and nationally reconized in this country. Maybe you might not think so, but you know the "Green Peace" movement out of the 70's? Started in Ann Arbor at Michigan. Arbor Day is thanks to that. And you know all of those pictures you saw in your history textbooks of protestors in the 60's? Yeah, a lot of them were of a little organization called Students for a Democratic Society, SDS for short, an extremely important student group during the counter-cultural movement of the late 60's. And it started right on the doorstep of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.
So yeah, I'm a little proud of that school. I've had tons and TONS of friends attend, but my grades in high school were laughable, and Michigan is no joke. They look at academics, test scores, volunteering and community involvement.. they don't take admissions lightly. I had a snowball's chance in hell of being admitted immediately following high school, but that's okay with me. Why, you may ask? Well, immediately following high school, I went to a little Christian college outside of Jackson, Spring Arbor University. Now, I love SAU with all of my heart. It taught me so many important things and I met some of the best people there, but academically, I bombed out my first semester. As much as I miss SAU and regret passing that opportunity, I can't imagine the astronomical amount which I would've hated myself even more if that had been U of M. So I'm thankful I'm at the point in my life that I am now and will be even further before I finally set foot on that campus as a student. I'll take it more seriously, and I'll recognize what it means to my future.
Anyway. My point. I've been thinking lately about embracing life vs. accepting life. How many obese people get caught and trapped in the cycle of just accepting reality as it is. This is how things are, and they're not going to change, I might as well just find peace with that. I have actually HEARD those words from myself and others before, and seen it reflected in countless others attitudes.
It's horrifically sad, to be honest.
Most of us inherited brokenness, anger, dysfunction, dependence, addiction... and worse still, many of us were robbed of the necessary skills to truly become a whole person as an adult. So many people who battle eating disoders and obesity were never really taught how to function in this society. We weren't told we were beautiful or worthy or enough or capable. We were made to feel as though we were too much and not enough, all at the same time.Too much to handle, not enough to care about.
So where's rock bottom? That's what I want to know. For most, it was fairly soon prior to or fairly soon after the day of surgery. For some, it was the morning of the surgery. But what about me? I feel like an outsider. The only way to go up is to truly get down to the bottom. And I wonder if I'm alone in thinking, "Have I reached that bottom?" Sometimes I think I have. As bad as things have gotten, they've never been as bad as when I was seventeen, severely malnourished and starving and sitting inside a psych facility. They've never been that bad again. But they haven't exactly been glowing, either.
For some reason, I think I get this picture in my head that when a person hits rock bottom and then decides to fight for life and happiness and joy and peace, that from that day on things take on a new beauty and purpose and that person, even on bad days thereafter, is motivated by some inner drive to see things in happen in their life that they know were meant to happen. Honestly, I blame this perception on movies.
I want that. I want the drive. I want the spark to ignite into a full-fledged fire. I want to chase a passion. I want to be driven by a purpose. I want to see beauty and hope in the every day. I want to be at peace. I want to journal and do yoga and meditate and have good hair and no psoriasis and be able to shop in normal people's stores and be able to take a few things for granted in life. Personally, I think that sounds fair.
Skinny Bitches.
Aug 09, 2012
What have I done in the past four days?
Nothing.
That's right. Zip.
Well, that's not entirely true. I've breathed. My bed and I have reached new depths of our cyclically abusive relationship wherein it takes advantage of me and I berate it about how uncomfortable it is and then it reminds me if it were so uncomfortable, I wouldn't spend hours a day on top of it, wasting away. The bed always wins.
I've eaten. Pringles and powdered donuts and chewy Sweet Tarts and this ridiculous concoction I created out of basic necessity two years ago consisting of butter, onions fried in said butter, boiled potatoes added to said fried onions, more butter, and melted cheddar cheese with a whole shit-ton of salt for good measure. Oh, and Chef Boyardee ravioli.
I've complained and whined, which I'm pretty sure I would own the gold medal for if it were an Olympic sport. If life were the sport, I'd be Ryan Lochte. If complaining is the sport, I Michael Phelps that shit.
I've done some research about career fields and annual average salaries of registered nurses and the best cities to live in as of 2012. (Seriously, New Hampshire was number one. NEW HAMPSHIRE.)
But mostly, I've just felt sorry for myself.
Today, I was stalking Jenna Marbles. If you don't know who that is, Google her. Then come back to me after you've spent hours of your life that you'll never get back laughing so hard you cry at some of her Youtube videos. As I was watching Jenna, and blindly hating her for being thin, blonde, and generally flawless-skinned, I clicked on a video where she talks about her diet and exercise.
It's easy for me to assume about skinny girls. Especially the ones with blonde hair who wear MAC makeup and pretty clothes and who probably smell like sunshine and glitter. (Yeah, glitter has a smell. Don't judge me.) I assume they were born that way, they're naturally that way, they don't have to work for it, they don't understand what fat chicks go through, blah blah blah. It's another version of feeling sorry for myself. (I told you. Michael Phelps that shit.)
As she was talking about her -mostly- Vegan diet and her interval training at the gym, etc, I realized... these girls have to work, too. It's a basic law of nature. Sure, some bitches get lucky for awhile, but eventually, your metabolism is like Liam Neeson. It will find you, and kill you. You can't outrun it forever, (which maybe makes it more like Chuck Norris than Liam Neeson? Either way, it's a bad ass.)
I can complain all I want about how life isn't fair and how I freak out when I don't have a pack of cigarettes on my counter and a box of ice cream sandwiches in my freezer, (the mint chocolate chip kind are the shit), but in the end, I'm sort of just complaining, whining, and pitying myself into a doomed life of being boring, miserable, fat, alone, smelly, and single.
I'm sort of starting to get sick of myself. I booked a vacation off from me, but it involved some illegal activity. Apparently, those kinds of things are "frowned upon" after you get past your "teenage rebellion phase". Anyway, at some point, I'm sure enough will be enough. I think it has to gradually build. I don't think I've totally hit the "change point" yet, but I think with each day that passes, I'm getting closer.
Underachiever that I am, closer is good enough for me.
1 comment
Nothing.
That's right. Zip.
Well, that's not entirely true. I've breathed. My bed and I have reached new depths of our cyclically abusive relationship wherein it takes advantage of me and I berate it about how uncomfortable it is and then it reminds me if it were so uncomfortable, I wouldn't spend hours a day on top of it, wasting away. The bed always wins.
I've eaten. Pringles and powdered donuts and chewy Sweet Tarts and this ridiculous concoction I created out of basic necessity two years ago consisting of butter, onions fried in said butter, boiled potatoes added to said fried onions, more butter, and melted cheddar cheese with a whole shit-ton of salt for good measure. Oh, and Chef Boyardee ravioli.
I've complained and whined, which I'm pretty sure I would own the gold medal for if it were an Olympic sport. If life were the sport, I'd be Ryan Lochte. If complaining is the sport, I Michael Phelps that shit.
I've done some research about career fields and annual average salaries of registered nurses and the best cities to live in as of 2012. (Seriously, New Hampshire was number one. NEW HAMPSHIRE.)
But mostly, I've just felt sorry for myself.
Today, I was stalking Jenna Marbles. If you don't know who that is, Google her. Then come back to me after you've spent hours of your life that you'll never get back laughing so hard you cry at some of her Youtube videos. As I was watching Jenna, and blindly hating her for being thin, blonde, and generally flawless-skinned, I clicked on a video where she talks about her diet and exercise.
It's easy for me to assume about skinny girls. Especially the ones with blonde hair who wear MAC makeup and pretty clothes and who probably smell like sunshine and glitter. (Yeah, glitter has a smell. Don't judge me.) I assume they were born that way, they're naturally that way, they don't have to work for it, they don't understand what fat chicks go through, blah blah blah. It's another version of feeling sorry for myself. (I told you. Michael Phelps that shit.)
As she was talking about her -mostly- Vegan diet and her interval training at the gym, etc, I realized... these girls have to work, too. It's a basic law of nature. Sure, some bitches get lucky for awhile, but eventually, your metabolism is like Liam Neeson. It will find you, and kill you. You can't outrun it forever, (which maybe makes it more like Chuck Norris than Liam Neeson? Either way, it's a bad ass.)
I can complain all I want about how life isn't fair and how I freak out when I don't have a pack of cigarettes on my counter and a box of ice cream sandwiches in my freezer, (the mint chocolate chip kind are the shit), but in the end, I'm sort of just complaining, whining, and pitying myself into a doomed life of being boring, miserable, fat, alone, smelly, and single.
I'm sort of starting to get sick of myself. I booked a vacation off from me, but it involved some illegal activity. Apparently, those kinds of things are "frowned upon" after you get past your "teenage rebellion phase". Anyway, at some point, I'm sure enough will be enough. I think it has to gradually build. I don't think I've totally hit the "change point" yet, but I think with each day that passes, I'm getting closer.
Underachiever that I am, closer is good enough for me.
Sorry for my Outbursts.
Aug 08, 2012
Urgh. It's only when browsing through these forums/message boards that I realize how pissed off and bitter I still am about my surgery and the way everything happened. I carry some pretty heavy scars from the whole thing, and perhaps the worst part is that the people I really should be working on forgiving will never know justice. At least not MY justice, which I know is selfish. But still.
I feel like I'm standing in the door and waving. Over at the Teen and Childhood Obesity forum. Teenagers who are overweight, want to have WLS, and are desperately seeking some guidance and advice. Well... hi. My name's Ashlee, had surgery when I was seventeen, and... and... and what do I say then? That it was the worst decision of my life? That some (most) days, I wish I'd never gone through with it? That in the WLS "Community" I am a FAILURE. A failure. My surgery failed. I failed. And I live with the consequences every day. Yeah, that'll really be received well by the overseers of the poor, vulnerable little kiddos.
Then there's the "WLS Singles" group. Again, what do I say there? That I still LOVE Pringles? That I eat them in bed and don't leave my house for days on end and really have no friends or anything like that. Yeah, that's totally attractive. I'm a sexy, unshowered, unemployed, underachiever. Date me, and I'll make all your dreams come true. Bring me home to your mom because moms LOVE me.
There IS a bonified reason I've stayed away from the online stuff as far as WLS is concerned. It's just because I feel as though I don't really fit in anywhere. All y'all who've had surgery are usually older than I am. Not saying I can't make friends with those older than me, because I can. Most young people who had surgery such as myself did not have so much weight to lose. Or, if they did, their surgeries were "successes" and now they're skinny and moved on with their life. They didn't have the shit that went down with their surgeons.
I'm going to create my own Island of Misfit Toys. It's by invitation only. To get an invite to the Island, you have to be an outcast. A loser. MAYBE even a *gasp* FAILURE. You have to have correct grammar, punctuation, and spelling because I can't really stand people who don't. And. Well, I think that's about it.
0 comments
I feel like I'm standing in the door and waving. Over at the Teen and Childhood Obesity forum. Teenagers who are overweight, want to have WLS, and are desperately seeking some guidance and advice. Well... hi. My name's Ashlee, had surgery when I was seventeen, and... and... and what do I say then? That it was the worst decision of my life? That some (most) days, I wish I'd never gone through with it? That in the WLS "Community" I am a FAILURE. A failure. My surgery failed. I failed. And I live with the consequences every day. Yeah, that'll really be received well by the overseers of the poor, vulnerable little kiddos.
Then there's the "WLS Singles" group. Again, what do I say there? That I still LOVE Pringles? That I eat them in bed and don't leave my house for days on end and really have no friends or anything like that. Yeah, that's totally attractive. I'm a sexy, unshowered, unemployed, underachiever. Date me, and I'll make all your dreams come true. Bring me home to your mom because moms LOVE me.
There IS a bonified reason I've stayed away from the online stuff as far as WLS is concerned. It's just because I feel as though I don't really fit in anywhere. All y'all who've had surgery are usually older than I am. Not saying I can't make friends with those older than me, because I can. Most young people who had surgery such as myself did not have so much weight to lose. Or, if they did, their surgeries were "successes" and now they're skinny and moved on with their life. They didn't have the shit that went down with their surgeons.
I'm going to create my own Island of Misfit Toys. It's by invitation only. To get an invite to the Island, you have to be an outcast. A loser. MAYBE even a *gasp* FAILURE. You have to have correct grammar, punctuation, and spelling because I can't really stand people who don't. And. Well, I think that's about it.
Pills to be Happy?
Aug 07, 2012
Oh, btw... if you don't like people who curse or are offended by them, you'd do well to move onto another page right now. Just sayin, I grew up not being able to curse and now, I find it extremely effective for a lot of different points. Not that I'm gonna go all 2Pac up in here, but if you get offended easily, spare us both and move on.
So basically, I am the queen of unfulfilled promises.
Tomorrow, I'm gonna get up and put on my sneakers and go for a walk. And then drink water! And eat good shit!
That's me. Every night.
And then I wake up the next morning, cursing my own existence and trying to pry myself off of my bed. I beg my bed, I plead with it. I get mad at it sometimes. "Our relationship is over. You're taking advantage of me. I will live forever in the land of the sleepless. Call me Edward Cullen, you'll never see me again." And yet, ten minutes after I've managed to stagger out of my emotionally-abusive bed like a wounded baby deer and stumble in my best Johnny Depp-as-Jack-Sparrow impression to the bathroom, I am sitting back in it's clutches. It's like a black hole. Or a venus fly trap.
So I never walk. Ever. I've exercised since my surgery, but never for long periods of time. Treadmills give me the urge to nibble on a block of salt like a hamster, ellipticals are just way too bad-ass for me. (Seriously, though. You SEEN the chicks that work out on those things? It's like Lara Croft: Elliptical Master), stair-steppers are too intimidating and bikes just make me FEEL like the fat person at the gym. So I figured I'd rebel against the gym, right? Go for walks like those cool people you see with Body Buggs and Under Armor and you think to yourself, "Ooo... this person is to be taken seriously."
Except today, when I went out of my front door for the first time in two days since I was... ahem... *fired* at work on Friday, (long story), I got about ten steps to the mailbox before I started to feel strange and unmotivated and generally pissed off about having to walk two hundred feet to the mailboxes. Maybe that's why I don't get out and walk in the morning. (Or it might be because I'm posting this blog at 5 AM. But you know, just taking guesses).
Can depression really have such a bearing on everything? And if so, maybe it's time for me to cop to the fact that I'll never be one of those normal people who can walk out the front door every day and miraculously be a functioning member of society WITHOUT a pill. I've been fighting this since I, in a flourish of defiance, flushed my antidepressants down the toilet, (literally), when I turned eighteen. It's something no one wants to admit.
HEY. I'M NOT LIKE YOU. I NEED A PILL TO BE HAPPY.
Just thought you should know.
0 comments
So basically, I am the queen of unfulfilled promises.
Tomorrow, I'm gonna get up and put on my sneakers and go for a walk. And then drink water! And eat good shit!
That's me. Every night.
And then I wake up the next morning, cursing my own existence and trying to pry myself off of my bed. I beg my bed, I plead with it. I get mad at it sometimes. "Our relationship is over. You're taking advantage of me. I will live forever in the land of the sleepless. Call me Edward Cullen, you'll never see me again." And yet, ten minutes after I've managed to stagger out of my emotionally-abusive bed like a wounded baby deer and stumble in my best Johnny Depp-as-Jack-Sparrow impression to the bathroom, I am sitting back in it's clutches. It's like a black hole. Or a venus fly trap.
So I never walk. Ever. I've exercised since my surgery, but never for long periods of time. Treadmills give me the urge to nibble on a block of salt like a hamster, ellipticals are just way too bad-ass for me. (Seriously, though. You SEEN the chicks that work out on those things? It's like Lara Croft: Elliptical Master), stair-steppers are too intimidating and bikes just make me FEEL like the fat person at the gym. So I figured I'd rebel against the gym, right? Go for walks like those cool people you see with Body Buggs and Under Armor and you think to yourself, "Ooo... this person is to be taken seriously."
Except today, when I went out of my front door for the first time in two days since I was... ahem... *fired* at work on Friday, (long story), I got about ten steps to the mailbox before I started to feel strange and unmotivated and generally pissed off about having to walk two hundred feet to the mailboxes. Maybe that's why I don't get out and walk in the morning. (Or it might be because I'm posting this blog at 5 AM. But you know, just taking guesses).
Can depression really have such a bearing on everything? And if so, maybe it's time for me to cop to the fact that I'll never be one of those normal people who can walk out the front door every day and miraculously be a functioning member of society WITHOUT a pill. I've been fighting this since I, in a flourish of defiance, flushed my antidepressants down the toilet, (literally), when I turned eighteen. It's something no one wants to admit.
HEY. I'M NOT LIKE YOU. I NEED A PILL TO BE HAPPY.
Just thought you should know.
