This is dedicated to a Coffee-Sipping Catholic ♥
So I’m in one fucker of a mood right now because of PMS. Having my drug abuse re-hashed and mocking of my choice for gastric bypass rather than traditional dieting and willpower haven’t helped any. As you guys have noticed, I’m blunt, honest, have no filter between my brain and mouth, and will call it like I see it (tactfully if with a friend or someone I care for, all else be damned if I can’t stand you).
Someone yesterday left me a comment after reading the link I provided to the blog entry I wrote last June about coming clean regarding my drug addiction. Now, I’ve always admitted that I abused pain medication. When public documents from the board of nursing were made public on another blog (it doesn’t matter if you love me or hate me…you’re thinking about me!) I decided right then and there to make my form of a public statement. What this person wanted to know was how I manage to be comfortable in my own skin—comfortable enough to tell the truth, tell you to fuck off, and just be ok with who I am. She also mentioned her skin was tight and itchy—-moisturize, moisturize, moisturize!!! Just kidding.
I did not become comfortable in my own skin until I hit 30 or so. I grew up in the Bible Belt and knowing since I was a child that I was an atheist. I had to hide that so I wouldn’t draw unwanted attention to myself. I was 20-40 pounds heavier than my friends growing up, so I tried to dress like they did so I didn’t want to stick out any more than I did. I always went along with the majority because I didn’t want people challenging me or chiding me if my opinion differed from theirs. Growing up, even during nursing school, I did my best to fit in because I didn’t want to be sent to Social Siberia and have no friends other than an inflatable boyfriend.
I started speaking out and figuring out who I was as the decade of my 20’s progressed. I survived an emotionally, verbally, and physically abusive first marriage. That made me a bit stronger. I worked as a travel nurse for a couple of years, and I found that I could depend on myself and provide for myself even if I was in Alaska (I did work there for a Summer). I started reading JM’s blog when someone sent me the link about Stellan being ill. I read the blog faithfully, and I’ll be honest: the bitch made me feel guilty. I had one son, and I didn’t take him places everyday, feed him organic food, dress him in brightly colored designer clothes and baby leggings, and have funny-looking wooden high chairs and seats. But the longer I read her blog the more I noticed little white lies. When confronted by others she would deflect, deny, or give her staple, “Sorry you must have misunderstood!” answer. One night, after talking to J about this twatwaffle, I told him that from here on out I’m just going to let the inner Carmen become the outer Carmen. Literally. What you see is what you get. What I think is what you will hear. You like me? Great! You don’t like me? Piss off. I came out openly as an atheist. I stopped feeling guilt and shame and realized that I was a great parent to Footlong. I was worthy of sharing my opinion and giving/receiving respect just as much as the next person. The cussing isn’t new though; that’s been around for quite awhile.
When Jennifer’s bankruptcy documents and audio recording of her 341 meeting were made public I was absofuckinglutely astounded that the bitch kept trying to lie her way out of it. The truth was literally printed on black and white court documents, but she couldn’t admit the truth. She had PayPal accounts? The MWOPers must have set them up and made deposits to frame her. Did she own a second RV? NO. Did she sell and RV on Craigslist? Yes, but she had never owned it. Several months later when the public documents regarding my drug use were published I knew I had three options: 1) Keep quiet and pretend I didn’t know about it. 2) Pull a Jennifer and deflect and deny until I was green in the face. Or 3). Tell the truth and embrace it for what it was. I can’t go back and change my past. No one can. But trying to lie about black and white documents bearing my own signature would have been a totally assholish MckMama type of move. You can’t change the past, but fucking hell you can certainly decide how to handle the present—that will eventually morph it’s way into your future. Am I embarrassed? Of course I am; I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t. Am I mad someone posted it? Not really because I knew it was a public document. Did I want to go back to being the Carmen that internalized everything for fear of drawing attention to herself, or did I want to become Carmen, a grown woman in her 30s who has finally embraced her life, mistakes, self-image, opinions, beliefs, desires, and put it all out there for the world to see? I chose the latter. Sometimes reading hurtful things about myself of being insulted hurts. I’m human; I feel pain. But am I going to let it get the best of me or make me change who I am so please someone else who has issues? FUCK NO.
So, that is how I got to where I am and how I got comfortable in my own skin. Which, with the weight loss, is looking more and more loose and dimply, but that’s for another blog post altogether. If any of you want to send me a photo with your age, height, weight, and size for our “One Month to Vegas” challenge please do so this week. And give yourself a fake name so you can stay anonymous. Send photos to firstname.lastname@example.org
Love you guys!! I’m blessed to have people accept me for me, and it feels good.