Ankle Bone’s Connected to the…Self-esteem

That’s me, pictured above. That baby never knew what an ankle bone felt like.


I felt my ankle bone for the first time. Ever.

I have been overweight since the age of 3. I have always eaten too much. Been hungry all the time. Always been fat.

I’m not being mean. I’m being honest.

I don’t mind saying I’m fat. People have called me fat in the past and it hurts. But mainly because of the way they say it. Or their intention behind it.

I have girlfriends who call me fat, but so are they. If you’re my friend, also fat, and say it with a joyful heart, you can say just about anything to me. I might call you a bitch, but through smiling, laughing lips.

However. If you come for me? Strap on your adult diaper, Homes. Because you’re about to see this fat girl move like a spider monkey.

All that being typed, the main thing you should know, I’ve always been a fatty. I’m so used to being overweight, that I just don’t even think of myself, have never thought of myself, as a normal, pretty, unfat, skinny person. BUT!

Last night? I felt my ankle bone. For the first time. Ever. Like, I’ve never felt my own ankle bone. Since birth. Usually, what passes as my ankle is a soft mass of skin on top of cotton balls in a bag of gel. Ankle bones are a skinny person thing! I have a collar bone now too. 😀 Also! I have shoulder blades. LOL Bony ones! And my tush has fallen clean off leaving the remains of a skeletal pelvis under a flabby skin sack, aka bony butt.

I am now at 265.4. I’ve lost a total of 248 lbs since 2012. Thanks to weight loss surgery, exercise and eating right, I am getting skinny! Well on my way of reaching my pre-skin surgery weight of 200. Goal! I am only 65 lbs away!!! That feels good. Kind of like an ankle bone for the first time.

My worth and value are not summed up in an ankle bone. Or weight loss. Or anything physical. But it sure feels nice to be healthy, with strong bones, and a pumping, happy heart.


You don’t have to be thin, blonde, blue-eyed, well-endowed, perfectly proportioned.
Or have an ankle bone protruding.
You just have to be kind and full of grace to be pretty. ❤
I want to be pretty.

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Dreams

Lost in clouded fever dreams
Floating forever on airy streams
Weightless, careless of Life’s schemes
Raptured though it seems
With Love’s jagged, blooded themes
Sinking in these wishful creams
Mind swimming with thoughtful teems
No one can hear those mumbled screams
Hope is what the heart redeems

What does it mean?

I have a recurring dream from time to time. I always thought these type of dreams were mythical. A story device or figurative theme. I didn’t know anyone who had recurring dreams, except for the old “I’m naked in a department store or at high school” dream.

It’s not the same dream exactly, but very similar.

I dream about houses. Dreamt about houses last night. Houses I’ve never lived in, but somehow they are my house. Or my mother’s house. Or my grandmother’s house. They are always large. Full of forgotten rooms that don’t get used. Always in need of work, valuable, but nobody wants them. So how valuable can they be?

The house is always in a place that I miss. Rolling hills in the country with winter-dead grass and usually on a hill. Stately. Ancient. Sopping wet from rain on the outside. Inside–some rooms are warm/cozy; some rooms hold ghosts. Some rooms are sliding off into oblivion and I have an insane need to save them. Physical pull to push them back from destruction.

What does it mean? Not sure. Not sure why I have the dream, what precedes it. Or what it might portend.

I reckon it’s a longing. That I miss my family. That I mourn our collective loss. That I can’t go home again. That I never had one, really. That I want to rebuild our foundation, but it’s crumbling with time.

I miss Mom, KC, rolling hills and soggy leaves. But I never really lived there. I survived.