I am the worst blogger in the world. I go from pathetic opinion blogs to weight loss journaling and then onto the sad parts of my life I seem to confess no where else but here....

This blog is like a catch all of emotional turmoil in my life and that sucks. But I suppose its better than holding it all in until it festers.

I am not really sure whats going on in my love life right now except that I think that its over. What's bad, is that I am blaming myself for it when I know damned good and well it isn't my fault. But I can't help but feel like I should just find an apartment, pack my bags and go.

To help better recant the incident, I suppose I should spell it all out. Cory and I have had our issues with 'other women' the entire length of our marraige. The issue is that I have serious trust issues stemming from my last marriage, and he has serious issues with keeping his hands to himself. Not to mention, I think he might be some sort of sex addict because while most married couples can call it once or twice a week and be happy, I am having to fight with him daily about sex. Either he wants it or something like it daily or he seems to start flirting or finding other women. He's never admitted to cheating, but I just don't believe it. I just can't buy it, not after all these years and all the incidents.

I'm guilty of sneaking his cell phone and checking his messages. Funny thing, text messages. Phones are making it easier and easier to bust infidelities. A week ago maybe today, or maybe it was a few days later I am not entirely sure, Cory had left his phone on the desk to charge, case off. Normally I get up, unplug it and then log into work, put the case on it and toss it up by his head so when his alarm goes off it doesn't sound on my phone calls. But today, today I didn't. I had been noticing the markers of what I call sneakiness. When I walked up behind him if he was on his phone, he would quick minimize the message so I couldn't see what he was typing. The late night calls of "I'm off work now, but I am going out to the beach." At one in the morning... Things he didn't normally do, thats when I know something's up. It's been about a year since the last time, and last time it was Facebook and him admitting to a friend that he was trying to sleep with two girls at work, and one from Illinois was trying to sleep with him. These were his exact words, later he said that he was just telling his friend this but I was able to guess the two girls at work, their names at least. The woman in Illinois, I was not able to guess. We worked out a compromise then that I had to give him what he needed at least once per day, and he had to help out more around the house. I have at least somewhat stuck to my side of the bargain, even if I think it is unfair, he has not.

Anyway, something in my gut told me that I needed to look through his messages. I hate this, I hate being put in the position to look. I hate feeling like I need to look anyway and I hate myself even more when I do. Why? Because its none of my goddamned business right? It's his phone, his privacy but then again, if he's screwing other women I have a right to know about that too? It's a very conflicting feeling, and I hate myself when I feel like I am going crazy white girl and have to take a peek. Today was one of those days.

I noticed him being inappropriate with one girl there, but nothing to crazy. So I ignored that thread of messages, and moved onto the the next one. We'll call her MarriedGirl. MarriedGirl, who I did not know was an employee with him, and Cory were texting back and forth. Things like how was she all dressed up, he would like to see that. Then they started to get really suspicious. Something about how her phone was dying and he hoped not, because he needed to be able to find her. Then the one that sealed it. It said from him; "No one at work can know about this, you know that right?" And her reply said "Duh."

So what did I do? I wrote the number down and I thought about it for ten or fifteen eternal moments. I thought about what should I do. And then what would happen if I did them. The conclusion I came to in my head was if I woke my husband up and asked him, he would tell me that I was over-reacting and that nothing was going on like he always does. Then he would get mad at me for checking his phone, and then he would turn this all around in my head that it was all my fault. That I wasn't doing something right, like he had the other times. So I did the unthinkable, or maybe not the unthinkable. I texted the girl. I asked her if she was screwing my husband, and she said she wasn't. She said she was married too, but who was I and who was my husband? When I explained to her my name, his name, and the like she stopped texting. I am pretty sure why, but I woke up my husband and asked. AS I expected, at first he was like "She's no one... You've overreacting." But when I confronted him with the texts, he told me she was a new employee. He was pissed. I expected as much.

It took me fretting over it all day for him to admit he was wrong this time. He at first blamed it on me and how I act like I don't want him. (Never you mind that we have sex three times or more a week.) And that when he meets a girl that is responsive to his flirting, he can't help himself he flirts back because he needs to feel wanted. But he admitted he was wrong, and said that they hadn't slept together... (Never you mind that he used the phrase "We haven't done anything, yet.")

I've tried to let it go, but I can't help but feel like I can't. I feel so super betrayed, like even if he didn't cheat he was going to. The bad news is that he worked with the girl, and he was afraid that it was going to hurt his job. So he told the GM. (He's the assistant Manager.) The Gm had to report it, and they suspended him. The worse news is that they were going to give him his own store, promote him to GM.

Now my husband is treating me like the black plague, treating me like I screwed him up. I don't know if my marriage is going to survive this, and I don't even know if I feel like fighting for it anymore.

In the past few weeks, there have been an abnormal amount of posts on obesity.

I subscribe to the -ish sites, because I enjoy the occasional article, but lately reading them has made me feel even more of an alien in my own body than I already did.
There are so many people who are offended by those of us who they consider to be overweight. Now, I am not going to lie to anyone. I am overweight and I know it, there's no sugar coating that. I have been considered overweight for approximately 90% of my life. It wasn't a gradual change from thin to chubby either, I remember not ever being skinny. I've always been a woman with curves, and thats just all there is to it.

Not once since middle school on was I ever able to enter a shop and purchase clothing that wasn't in plus size. This is in part my fault, but also in part to faults of my genetics. I was born with Congenital Hypothyroidism that went undiagnosed until I was 14. It was a minor case, but without medication it affected my growth. Until I started the hormone, if I grew anywhere it always seemed to be out and not up. When I finally did start to mature, it seemed to me that my parents were not in fact the people who raised me, but a pair of giants.

My mother is a relatively petite woman. She's bordering on above average height at five foot seven, and always had a slender structure. My father is also not a tall man, he's barely five foot eleven and he also is of slender build. Upon maturity, it became painfully apparent that I did not resemble each of them. There is a term that is so loosely thrown around, called big boned. "I'm not fat, I'm big boned...." Heard it? Be aware that sometimes this is exactly the case.

Because of my condition, I did not mature until I was nearing the age of fifteen. But it eventually happened, and I found myself the subject of ridicule. I went from being a short, pudgy kid to being a tall, large woman. And because of this I became the subject of ridicule. The boys liked me because I developed some nice T&A, but only to stare at. And the girls were as cruel as girls can be. I developed an eating disorder at the age of 16, in desperation to be thin and to fit in.

It was only after my starvation diet gave me a pretty nasty ulcer, did my parents realize there was a problem. My mom took me to our physician, who brought in his dietician to talk to me. It was then, at the age of sixteen and at the weight of one hundred and eighty pounds, that I learned the painful truth.

I was /Never/ going to be thin. Not without the expense of good health. As the years go by, there are demographics that are put out that say what the current healthy weight/average size for people should be. This however, is based on a demographic and is not personalized to you. There are factors that everyone as an individual possess that can alter this to fit you. And while this demographic based chart can be used as a guide, you should always consult with your doctor to find out just exactly what you as a person need to find a healthy lifestyle.

Based on that demographic, at my height I should weigh no more than one hundred and fifty pounds. At one hundred and eighty pounds, I was unhealthy. How is that possible? I was malnourished. My hair was falling out. I looked thin, gaunt, and my blood pressure was atrociously low. My doctor and dietician looked at the size of my bones, and told me that I might just have to sell myself on never looking cheerleader thin. My fingers were long, but large around the second knuckle. My wrists were huge. My femur was long, and very dense. And my feet were some of the largest he'd seen on a woman. My pelvis and hips were big, and my ribcage had a wide diameter. I had huge bones. Thanks to a strong heritage of Scottish, Irish, and other anglo descent, I was built as them.

I have never been under two hundred pounds ever since that day, and while I am still overweight I have learned that there is a difference in fat and healthy. You can be healthy, and still be what the world calls fat. You can be as skinny as a rail, and be one of the most unhealthy people out there. The key is, don't let people judge you. Be proud in who you are, despite your size, and what you do. They may be able to run a mile farther than you, but you shouldn't have shame for just being what you are. And if you decide to buy clothes, or have to buy clothes from a big and tall shop, so what.

Look in history and see the iconic people of the world who would be considered big. People like Marilyn Monroe, who is considered one of history's most beautiful women. Theodore Roosevelt, who was one of our nations most iconic leaders. There's so many more. Winston Churchill, Elvis Presley, Queen Victoria, Benjamin Franklin, Winfield Scott. The list goes on and on.

The measure of a person isn't in the size of their waist, but in the depth of their character.

So yesterday I blew my diet for the first time. We had run out of food in the house for a few days, and were surviviing on boxed and processed (to which there were not much) and after shopping yesterday, I just could not get enough to eat. A bag of baked lays and a box of Jujyfruits totally blew my 1600 cals out of the water, but I am back on the horse today. Going cycling when Cory gets home.

Activity goals:

Cycle - 5 miles.

Intake Goals: 1500 - 1600 cals.