Name change?

I've been contemplating a name change for my blog. A few ideas:

"So this is my hell..."
"So this is my struggle..."
"So why bother?"

How easily discouraged I get. It doesn't take much - it never has. I don't like to be consumed by a problem. Honestly, it does nothing but drag me down, make me feel like crap, and have a poor affect on those around me. But it is hard to stay positive, especially when we're talking about something that could mean life or death for me...and that is the sickening, harsh reality of it all.

About a month ago, we received in the mail some information about a health care plan. Seeing as we can't stand the new insurance that Charlie's company has forced upon them, and the fact that Charlie is looking elsewhere for work, we thought it would be in our best interest to explore other options. The rep for the insurance company came to our house last night to discuss the plans and benefits. We get about 3/4 of the way through the presentation, and it gets laid out on the table. He asked if we have any specific health problems that would inhibit our chances of getting this insurance (ie. diabetes, cancer, epilepsy, etc.). We said no, but mentioned that I have hypothyroidism and high blood pressure. Then he says, "Now, how can I put this gently?" (At this point, I already know what's coming.) "Jenifer, you're obviously still carrying around baby weight. Think back to a few years ago, before you started having kids. That will be the weight we'll write you down for, because I don't want to see you get rejected for health care over how much you weigh."

Thanks. Thanks a lot. Ok, I understand that I'm heavy and that that's how the ball bounces in the health care court. Those are the facts, I'm well aware. But what no one has ever understood is that when people "call my weight to my attention," all I see is a look of disgust on their faces and hear the haughtiness in their voices. It's like, "Good God, look at you! What's wrong with you? Why can't you be normal and thin and in shape like other women? You're disgusting." That's what I hear, ok? That's what my brain processes. I won't get past this for DAYS. And when it came time to confess my poundage, I found myself panicking. I could feel my whole body flushing with embarassment and shame. I was looking for ways to stall the oncoming question, a way out, something. All the guilt and shame and disgust that I've so proudly pushed aside in my endeavor to better myself came rushing back in one single moment. My childhood came flooding back in a torrent. The kids at school were back, calling me names and laughing and pointing fingers and mooing. People who I know and love and look up to were there again, asking me, "When are you going to lose weight like your mother? Don't you want to look like her and your sister?" In one foul swoop, my dignity and perserverance were taken away. It was heartwrenching, to say the least.

Charlie did and said all he could to boost my confidence last night. It didn't work. I even got up early, fed Aiden, and did my exercises. Still not feeling it. The whole time I did the routine, I kept thinking, "What am I doing? Why bother? Do I think people will like me better if I lose weight? Will my family love me more if I become 5 sizes smaller?" It's times like this when I seriously consider bulemia, starvation, or other drastic measures. Maybe that's what will work for me. What else is there? Everyday, I'm afraid to eat. The thing is, I don't eat that much, and I have made so many changes to make sure I'm eating healthier. I've mastered portion control and cut out high fat, high sugar, high carb, high sodium foods. Charlie refuses to consent to me having gastric bypass. I don't know that I necessarily need that. Plus (no pun intended), I don't know if I can go through another surgery or hospital stay knowing how it affects Gabriella.

People who have never experienced these feelings, or haven't experienced them to the capacity that I have, can very easily say, "Chin up! Don't give up now. Just brush it off and keep doing what you're doing. You can do this!" They will wholeheartedly believe that their pep talks and positive outlook will help me change my perspective. It won't. Know why? Because it has to come from me. And if I don't believe in myself, it is never going to happen for me. This is why I have failed so miserably, so many times before. I'm afraid of myself - I know me too well. I knew better than to bank on this life change. I told Charlie that I was afraid I was going to let me down. At least I'm living up to that expectation, huh?

I don't really know what more to say except that it's not easy. I didn't ask to be this way. I didn't want to get to this point. Crying out for help has never gotten me anywhere, maybe because I refused to do so. Living like this on a day to day basis really just sucks, ok? It SUCKS!!! I hate it. I hate being me somedays. I don't hate being a mom to two beautiful, wonderful children. I don't hate being a wife to an incredible, amazing husband. I don't hate being a sister, daughter, granddaughter, niece, cousin, aunt, in-law, or friend to anyone. I just hate being stuck in this cocoon that I've woven over the years. I keep hoping that, one day, that pretty little butterfly will pop out of that crysallis and take everyone by storm. I'm doing all I can to get to that point, but it's hard knowing that your best isn't good enough. I don't know that it will ever be.