Determined To Succeed

Day nine.

It’s absolutely amazing how addictions, to no matter what, seem to show the same patterns and symptoms. Take for example denial. The old Bill would have made a funny, cheesy joke about it not being a river in Egypt, but this new Bill knows all too well denial because I lived it – twice. It is no laughing or joking matter. It is serious and it applied to my weight loss then and it applies to my life now.

Before, when I was over 400 pounds I was in complete denial. How do I know? One, it was always in the back of my head. I just chose to ignore it. Two, because I am finally facing what denial is thanks to the help I am seeking now and I can say I exhibited all the signs of it. It says in twelve-step literature, denying a problem exists is a common form of resistance for those having trouble recognizing and coming to grips with their problems. Various forms of denial include thinking:

• “I’m not as bad as others…”
• “I’m not addicted to (and insert your addiction here)…”
• “I come from a good family/better background…”
• “One more time won’t hurt…”
• “This is everywhere, therefore I can’t get free.”

When I was 400 pounds I swear to God I thought each and every one of these things. I would walk into a big and tall store and plop down my money for a size 5XL shirt thinking “hell, they do make shirts in 6XL and even 7XL. And I’m not that bad.” Thinking I wasn’t addicted to food was just a joke. It was like I couldn’t live without it. Even here I talk about food extremely fondly. Of course, we all have a soft place in our hearts for our favorite foods, but back then I “needed” them. The taste in my mouth for them was so great I had to satisfy it and most often did.

I also thought that since my mama loved me and instilled in me a sense of “you can do anything” I was “above” that kind of thing. And one more egg roll, Sausage McMuffin with Egg sandwich or hot dog would not only not hurt but also not make a difference in my weight even though I was topping the scale at 400. Shit, and the last thing, the “it’s everywhere, therefore I can’t get free” thing is why I call driving on a main street “driving the gauntlet,” the row of endless fast food chains waiting to take you in with open arms to offer you greasy comfort.

That is denial and I went through it then, and like I said recently realized how much I was in denial again about a great many things. Denial is powerful, but denial is also a two-sided coin. On one side denial offers you excuses to continue. It gives you the reasoning in your mind to keep doing X, Y or Z. It keeps you company when you are alone and feeling disgusted after doing X, Y or Z, remember “one more time won’t hurt.”

But if you flip the script denial gives you the keys to recognizing you have a problem and can actually help you stop what you are doing. You know the cheesy, cliche line “recognizing you have a problem is the first step in recovery?” Well, it may be cliche but the shit is true, and it will be true forever. If you are ready, I mean really bottomed out and ready to actually work on this, then the signs of denial are almost like a roadmap to getting help.

Back in 2005 I came to grips with the fact that I had to lose weight or I’d be dead. Now, I am coming to grips with the many “whys” I was that way, why I am this way and what I’m going to do about it. I am not in denial anymore and it feels good and I plan to stay on this road to recovery. And if you, out there, are wanting to lose weight and know you need to lose weight because your health and life are affected take a good, long and hard look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself if you are in denial. The scale and mirror don’t lie, so when you admit that to yourself you help yourself more than you’ll ever know. And moreover, it flips the coin of denial from the bad side to the good side and takes away that demon’s power over you.

Our struggles may be ongoing but we are fighting and that is something, especially when you are trying to regain a foothold on life – especially one that slips out of even your own control. And very much like when I was in denial twice (remember, about weight and current issues) I have made this promise twice: I never want to be there again. I said it with weight and won and I am saying it now. I want the old Bill gone and gone forever and I will do everything in my power to make that happen.

Dear Ma,

Today was a helluva day. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since you passed away. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday, and sometimes it feels every minute of every hour of the last 365 days.  It’s just past 7:00 p.m. here and the time you past away last year has come and gone as quietly as the moment did then, and I sat and thought about last June 9th – how peaceful it was at 5 o’clock, quittin’ time, when you breathed your last breath and became eternally healed.

I woke up today feeling a mixture of emotions. Some of them were happy because I remembered the kinds of things we did together especially when I was a kid, like when we went to the movies together. How cool that was that you’d let me bug the shit out of ya so we could get to the show early and stand in line to get some popcorn (if we had the money) and get a good seat. Some were sad because I thought about how much I just miss picking up the phone and talking to you. I miss the way you said “hello” when you picked up the phone, the way you laughed and how our last movie together (”The Mummy”) was now just about eleven years ago. Damn, time flies way too fast sometimes. Don’t it, Ma? That’s why I’m writing you this letter. I’m just thinking about you so much.

This morning, after I wrote my blog (a sort of way to keep a diary of thoughts using the computer),  I got dressed and took a walk in the park.  It felt so damn good to just turn off my music and just talk to you. I didn’t care if I looked crazy, I just wanted to have a talk with my mom. It felt good to just talk about what’s going on in my life like we used to. I liked being able to tell you everything. I’m so glad we had that relationship. It’s rare. And yes, I cried a bit. Hell, who am I kidding? I cried a lot. I cried as I was writing this morning and I cried walking in the park. I didn’t care, though. I just needed my Mama.  I just wanted to be closer to you especially because it was rainy today. You see, after you were cremated I spread your ashes in the park you took me to when I was young. It’s called Harold Washington Park now, and it was raining that day like it is today.  That made it seem better somehow, more peaceful, and thank you for holding off most of the rain until I got back in the car. I appreciate that.

Yeah, I thought about you so much. In my blog I wrote about what kinds of food you and I liked and it made me happy to remember all the times we went to Valois, or to get beef chop suey. And Mama, thank you for calling Rosalyn that night we were so broke and so hungry and for walking over to her house at eight o’clock at night to get us the chicken and spaghetti she made for us. In the park today I wondered if I did a good job of telling you how great a mom you were (and are). I wondered if I ever told you how much I loved you for doing stuff like that. I know it had to be hard but you did a wonderful job taking care of us and I love you. Thank you.

The thing I miss the most is just talking. It just felt so fucking good to talk to you, like I had been storing it all up for a while and let it all just come out in a good and happy way. And I know you can’t answer back but it’s like a friend of mine said, I just have to know that you do answer me just in different ways now. It may not be your voice but you do listen and are with me. Like you were last Saturday at the Oprah thing, or holding the rain back like you did today. I just have to listen for you with different ears.

There are definitely times I screw things up, I know that, but I hope I am making you proud of me. Since I got let go from the zoo I’ve been using my time to live out my dream of writing. I used part of that time to take that trip to Egypt you always wanted to take. I am doing my best to help people as much as I can. Hell, I have even been trying to do my best and communicate with Linda (we will see how that one goes). I may not be perfect but I am your son and everything you taught me makes up the best parts of me. I hope you know that, too. We didn’t have a lot but we had each other, and that’s all that mattered.

What’s it like in Heaven, anyway? I imagine it like a big neighborhood. You’re all healed and better and feeling good and you come out on your front porch and say HI to the people keeping you company up there. The cats we used to have, Tiger, Princess and Big Boy, all came to greet you last year when you arrived and now they are all curled up with you enjoying the sun as you pet each one. Please give Tiger a big hug for me and a kiss on her head. I miss her, too. Grandma is there, Virginia is there (say HI to her, too, will ya?) and you have no more pain or sadness. That’s what I imagine Heaven to be like, and your spirit is happy as it always deserved to be.

Down here, things are the same. Still worried about money (I may need to find a job soon), still thinking about getting my “big break.” Still missing you. But I’ll be OK.

I know I could keep talking to you all night, Mama. I guess I just want you to know you did a great job as a mom. You really did. We had some hard times but we also had great times, too. And you made me laugh, like when you said I was your favorite son. It took me a minute the first time I heard you say that and I said “but I’m your only son,” and how we had a great laugh over that so many times afterward. Your smile always made things better and you fixed everything so I didn’t have to worry. Sure there were things we couldn’t afford but you gently said “I can’t get that for you because we can’t afford it.” Thank you for teaching me about money and about the reality of it. Thank you for treating me with intelligence even when I was young. That is why this section of my computer diary is devoted to you. I always was, am and always will be so very proud of you. Those are the memories I will share with the world and the ones I will shout out to whoever will listen.

I really do hope Heaven is like I envision it to be. You worked so hard all your life, Ma. You deserve the rest in such a beautiful place. And you bet your ass I will keep talking to you about what’s going on. I miss you, Mama, so much. So pet the cats, take care just know I love you very, very much.

Your favorite (and only) son. Me.