Again, how do I get used to cigarettes again and how did I get used to them in the first place? Yeah, I had Tom get me cigarettes again. He got them nearly an hour after I asked him to, though. I know he wanted to eat and wake up, but I think he was stalling with the hopes that I’d change my mind. 

Accepting the new fat me just isn’t as easy as I hoped it’d be. What if it takes me as many years to accept it as it took me to accept never having a kid, among other things?

If I can rehook myself to cigarettes, I’m gonna quit again either way. I’ll either lose weight and will stop eating when I stop smoking again. Or I won’t lose weight but will quit again and go to a doctor to find out why I can’t lose weight. If the doctor tells me there’s really nothing I can do about it, and that that’s just the way some people are, especially older non-smokers whose heart rates and metabolisms differ from those who are younger or who smoke, only then can I accept my fate as a fat person. Like I said, I know I’ll be fat either for a long time or for the rest of my life, but I just can’t seem to accept it. Here’s a scary thought, though. What if I can’t quit the second time around? I thought that because I lost a lot of weight once, I could do it again. Obviously, I was wrong, so what if I can’t quit smoking again if I return to it? I never thought I’d have such mixed emotions as far as my finally being able to get off the cigarettes and my no longer wanting a child goes. I’m happy I quit smoking and improved my lungs (some of the time), but that only made me fat. I’m glad I finally stopped wanting the child I could never deal with or have, but still, I feel like I’ve swapped one problem for another. I feel controlled and as if all rights to choose have been stripped from me. If I miraculously could be thin again with or without cigarettes, I’d have some new problem thrown at me. If I decided I wanted a kid again, could magically fight God and Tom to get that kid, my new problems would be the fact that I could not handle a kid cuz of my schedule and cuz of the way I am. I know I’d only be another Dureen and Tammy and that I’d abuse it. I can see now just how easy it’d be to succumb to beating it and throwing it away to foster homes or funny farms. Tom says that’s the first step to doing something about it, but it’s not that easy. Just cuz you know you shouldn’t do something, doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to do what’s right.

Or am I just telling myself this shit to make it easier to deal with what I’ll never have???

So, the point is, I feel trapped and hopeless either way. Most of my problems, like my schedule, inability to sleep with my own husband, and infertility, aren’t your common everyday problems that can be fixed, they’re rare, unique, freakish problems that I could never fix. I feel like I’ll be trapped, overwhelmed and miserable no matter what. I either smoke and make my lungs worse, I either don’t smoke and be fat, I either don’t have a kid and wonder from time to time just what I could be missing or if I was right about how I feel it would have been like, or I have a kid and suffer the consequences of that. Meaning, the giving up of my life and the not being able to handle it. The bottom line is that there is nothing I can do about these things. It’s out of my hands. I have no say in these matters whether I tried to have some say in it or not. I can’t fight God and I can’t fight my husband. So, all I can do is try to remember that God made me and my life as it is for a reason and that if I didn’t have the problems I do, there’d only be other problems that I’d have. Also, I believe that if Tom really wanted a kid as bad as he says he does, he’d push me a little harder to see what could be done about that.

Maybe I could do something about my fat and my inability to reach out for help in fixing my female parts due to my fears about being a parent if Tom suggested every day that I should do whatever I could do to fix these problems and go to a doctor, but I can’t make Tom suggest things he doesn’t want to suggest. And a repetitious daily suggestion is what it’d take too. I’m that scared and weak. I wish I could conquer my fears, but I can’t, and I can’t make my husband say something that isn’t in his heart or that isn’t important to him. My husband will still be fine and will still love me if I stay fat and he’ll be OK and still love me if I can’t get up the nerve to speak out about my sterility to a doctor and try to fix it, then try to handle motherhood if they could make that happen. Even if a doctor could make my parts work OK at the snap of their fingers, we don’t have the proper sex for making babies. We couldn’t get me pregnant cuz my screwy schedule and his busyness prevent us from having sex more than once a week and that, combined with his age, pains, tiredness, and him being just the way he is, prevents us from cumming regularly. The way to impregnate a woman is to cum at least 5 days in a row, but that is not Tom S any more than it’s Tom S to sit and make prank phone calls. He is how he is, and I am how I am (not always so great in bed) and no doctor can fix/help us. So even if a million people cheered me on about these issues every day, what good would it do? I’m beyond help. My fate’s been sealed a long time ago as far as these issues go. I said that years ago and I’m still right about it and will always be. Nothing will change about that, but I still have such a hard time accepting my fatness. I know I will someday, and I know that when I do finally accept it, I’ll have a new problem that’s hopeless and that I cannot fix and that I’ll have to accept.

Later…

I have a lot to fill you in on now that my moods have stabilized back out to what they usually are, thank God.

First of all, Lisa tried calling again today. In the morning I’ll see if I can see what’s up. I hope to hell she didn’t cut herself again. I told Tom I didn’t feel I was competent enough to help her and he said I was doing all I could do and was doing an excellent job. Then why is she still cutting herself? God kept kids away from me for a reason and that’s cuz he knows I couldn’t deal with them. Thank God, though, and why oh why I ever thought I’d not only want to throw my life away on a kid, but have a Lisa living under our roof, beats the shit out of me. Tom says that in time, my words will sink into Lisa and that she’ll get better. I hope so!

Anyway, it’s one thing to know that something wanted me to quit smoking and that something does not want me to return to cigarettes, but then there’s really knowing! Yes, it was really drilled into this thick skull of mine the hard way. The other few times I tried smoking again, I just got a slight headache and a bit of nausea. Not this time! This time I got the headache and nausea, but I was also very dizzy too. So I ran into the bedroom and turned on the fan and blew it on myself to help clear my head. Then I went back out and smoked again, suddenly more determined to rebel against God and do all the things he’s forbidden me to do. What quickly changed my mind, though, was that the next time I had decided I could use some wind, he had broken my fan. Yup, the only loud fan we’ve got. He couldn’t just wait one more lousy year! Like what happened next wasn’t enough of a punishment and enough to drill it into my head that I must not smoke for reasons I don’t know if I’ll ever know?!

Anyway, I woke up at 120½. Not cuz this low fat/cal diet decided it’d work for once. Not cuz God decided to help me help myself lose weight. But because I ended up puking what I’d eaten early on in my day and was too queasy feeling for the rest of the day to have anything more than a few grapes, a few bites of spaghetti, and liquids. I know better, though. By the end of the day, I’ll be right back up to 124 and will stay that way for quite a while. I still have a virtually non-existent metabolism and while it’s a shame, it’s true that I either gotta get sick, or stop eating, in order to lose weight. I wish I could make myself bulimic, but I can’t. I can’t live on liquids either.

I know that something not only wants me not to smoke, but it wants me heavy, too. It’s important. It’s necessary for some reason I haven’t discovered yet, but I absolutely must never smoke again or lose weight, according to something up there. There is a reason why I was destined to quit smoking when I did, then get fat. I just hope this extra fat and nutrition it brings isn’t to help me survive a bad accident or illness, but there is a reason for it. I wish I knew what that reason was, though, and I guess I’ll be finding out one of these days.

To make matters worse, I had puked in the sink, figuring I could wash down the puke as it came out of my mouth so I wouldn’t have to see it and prolong my puking any more than necessary, but this asshole just clogged up the drain.

Tom came home for a while and later, he fixed the sink and bought a new fan. Unfortunately, they don’t make fans as loud as the older ones. I have two fairly quiet fans in the bedroom now and I’ll be sleeping with the music on in the daytime. I had stopped the music cuz Caddy kid thankfully dropped out of the picture, but according to Tom, he’s back and I didn’t hear him. He says he went by and went to check and saw it was him. Well, he must’ve just begun his cruising by 3 times a day again or wasn’t playing his music as loud as he usually does, cuz I don’t see how I could’ve not heard it over those two quiet fans and with the music, which I don’t play that loud. Only loud enough to hear its beat, but I guess it does do a good enough job of blending in with the beat of our city animal’s stereos. That was the idea after all.

Tom says that due to the fact that cigarettes are poison, it does make people puke, and that fan was very old. I’ve never heard of anyone puking from cigarettes. Why didn’t I puke when I first started smoking? And yes, that was an old fan, but it’s quite ironic that it breaks down when I do something that’s a no-no in God’s eyes. Cigarettes don’t make fans break or make people puke, something that doesn’t want a person smoking makes that fan break (something it knows is important to me) and makes that person puke. I never would’ve believed it and I’ll bet most others wouldn’t, too, if they heard that someone that quit smoking, can’t return to it no matter how hard they try. That’s not the way it works. Almost all smokers who quit for at least 2-4 weeks end up going back to smoking and they don’t puke. It’s me. It’s me again. Something doesn’t want me smoking and to top it off, it wants me fat, too, but why??? At first I thought about God doing this to me cuz he wants me to go to a doctor, and that I am fixable, and that he wants me fixed, and he wants me to have a kid now. (being a non-smoker would help ensure a healthier baby) And the reason why he wants me to go to a doctor and couldn’t have had one on my own all along is simply cuz he knew I was gonna be too stupid to do the right thing and prevent myself from conceiving back when I was a young, dumb, naïve 21-year-old. But he’d be forgetting something if this were the case. What about my inability to keep a schedule? What about the fact that I couldn’t handle a kid? Besides, that’s not what I want anymore. My idea of a good time is being with my husband, taking care of the animals, doing my hobbies, etc. Not playing Barbies with some smelly little kid or having a Lisa under our roof cutting herself.

Well, I know that his reasons have nothing to do with a kid, but what do they really have to do with? Why must I not smoke and stay fat? His decision to have me remain smoke-free isn’t the problem, it’s the fat that’s the problem. It’s got to be for more reasons than just mere compensation that’s got me so fat. Well, all I can do is just hope that his reasons are for the better and that it’s not cuz of something bad to come.