Please Help Me!

Can one of my readers do me a favor, I would like to write the lady in this video, but can't understand what she says is her email address? {remember I have serious hearing issues, the Youtube transcripts don't cut it....Please post it in the comments if you could.

I wonder how much "obesity" out there in the severe cases is uncontrolled lymphatic conditions, that leg of her is "water" not fat and she looks like she could be an undiagnosed lipedema case too beyond the lymphedema she already knows about.

A Documentary About Lipedema

See: The Swelling

The Aunt That Loved Me

                                          [picture source]
When I was five, I already knew I had been I had been born [or adopted?] into the wrong family. My Aspergers was not welcomed in a family full of personalities where anything "deep" was to be dismissed and being a book worm and having feelings was seen as "weaknesses". As detailed enough on this blog, I did not grow up in a happy household. Beyond the narcissistic abuse, there was never-ending screaming, and yelling. One could never even sit down and rest for a moment as one of the narcissists would go ranting and railing about everything from a shirt hanging over a chair to the wrong number of ice cubes in their drink. Anger was the default emotion with the two emotional Neanderthals I grew up with. So lets just say by age 5, I knew something was seriously wrong with my parents and even one day peering out through a friend's fence, overheard my mother telling a friend how weird I was and how I was "too smart" for my own good. My mother did not love me like other children were loved by their mothers and I knew it this young.

However out of this giant mess, Aunt J. would show me some love, acceptance and memories that I was able to lean on as life proceeded. This may have saved me in that I had someone tell me I was a decent human being among the chaos.

At times, us kids would get sent away to other relatives homes for extended periods of time. I usually looked upon these trips with anticipation and happiness. At age 3 and half, I and my brother lived in New Jersey a short time with other relatives while my sister fought to survive an extremely rare autoimmune disease. She would be one of the few that survived but this took my many months. By the time I was 5, my sister had survived, life continued on, but it was decided I would be sent to a relative's house for the summer while my family vacationed elsewhere. My memories are vague as to why I was sent away for so long but let's just say why I was not unhappy about it!

I took my first plane ride with my mother's best friend on the way back to their hometown. She was a nun who I looked up to at the time and who later left the convent 23 years later. Flying was exciting and being too young to be afraid of air travel, my ears popped and hurt and caused me some pain, so the trip was a tough one.

My aunt lived in a rented white bungalow out in a rural area. Across the street were farms and endless corn fields same as my grandmother's house which wasn't far away. Aunt J. was young then, 22 years of age but to me she was a grown up. Even my own mother was a mere 28 years of age. She was tall and thin with long brown straight hair and dark brown eyes and very intelligent. She had just had her first child, who was 6 months old. My uncle, who years later would write New Age books on Affirmations and go to New Mexico to "find himself" was her husband of a few years who she had married straight out of high school.

She showed me around the house as I got there, and this being the early 70s, I recall the pillows, comfortable chairs, and in one corner the Indian rattan chair with a huge round disc-like back. The living room held her newly purchased leather black couch. She made a tidy welcoming comfortable home.

We would spend much time outdoors, while in front of the house there was a circle driveway and a broken down shed in the backyard which a very large garden was next to. Unlike my parents who yelled at every weed and treated gardening as an exercise in self inflicted misery. Aunt J. loved plants and they blossomed under her care. She had huge broccoli and cauliflower plants, I remember to this day with their huge green and white roundness, big flat leaves and crisp smell.

My father would meanly grouse about my aunt and uncle, "the hippies", to me,  they were just more laid back, fun and nicer. My aunt was into art and alternative interests from health foods to later in life anything Native American including a collection of pottery and dream catchers and camping. We seemed to bond immediately. Sure at times she would tell me, "Be quiet the baby is sleeping!" and other reminders but I felt much more relaxed around her. I felt she understood me more and cared about me. I was so young but remember talking to her about so many things and actually being listened to instead of dismissed.

The summer proceeded, we went on trips to the dam, the woods where I explored natures and visited other relatives and even the neighbors across the street who owned Great Danes as tall as me. I would play with my cousin and he was a happy baby. Learning to draw that summer, copying the comic strip Peanuts into my sketchbook, my aunt's support of my new art talents would impact me for the rest of my life.

This was a period of life that was calm and collected, even though I missed my brother and sister, I wanted to stay living with my Aunt J. and remembered asking her. I was very sad upon leaving. Sometimes I think my wanting to stay increased the problems between me and my mother. I came back to a redecorated bedroom but felt like I had just left "home". Of course I was only 5 going on 6, an adult of good intentions may have asked "Why was my daughter so much happier away from home?"

Over the years my family would visit Aunt J and her family, she would have more children in 1980-two fraternal twins. She loved her children very much, and seemed to share a special bond with them that I ached for myself. She took them camping, read books to them, and shared her love of photography and art with them. Her husband would later leave her for another woman,[around 1982 very soon after the birth of the twins] and this was very hard for her to go through. She continued to provide a decent life for her children, luckily managing to hold on to another house her and her husband had build down the street from my grandmother's house.

We would continue visits, at times when I was over 18, I would drive down to visit. I would talk to her in her kitchen of sailboat glass hangings and bright orange counters. I could share things that weren't as easy to share with other family members. She knew something wasn't right with my mother but of course neither of us knew anything about narcissistic personality disorder or people who operated outside of a conscience and feelings.  I would continue these visits into college. There were a few differences as I aged, but I knew my mother was complaining [smear campaigns] about me all the time to others, and I worked hard to hold those lies back, and I mostly succeeded with her though I did not with my other aunt.

She could continue to work hard and her last job was working with juvenile delinquents at the youth home as a child care worker, a job I would just some years later would replicate as an art teacher in a juvenile home. She faced some economic struggles but kept plugging along.

One of the last conversations I had with Aunt J haunts me to this day, when her son seemed to have a premonition of her death to come only weeks later. I, Aunt J, and her son [the baby of my first and extended stay] were all sitting in her living room. I had driven down from college to visit them. It was 1987 and I was 19 years old. Sleeping on her couch and visiting all the relatives houses that included aunts and uncles and my grandmother's house in a row in rural Midwestern area, we were reminiscing.

[ By the way this is something narcissists will not do, the only person I could share memories with in more recent times has been my brother, the past never existed to my mother and sister, and was wiped away clean where attachment to people and places does not exist.]

 Aunt J brought up the death of her brothers in the late 1960s, one drowned trying to heroically save a friend on a fishing trip when that friend fell into into the river and one died being shot by a jealous lover. The latter uncle, I would find out was murdered within three weeks of my birth just recently. I knew it was the same year [1968] but never knew the timing was so close. How did I find out you might ask? I found a geneaology page last year that a distant cousin had done of my mother's family starting in Germany in 1823. Birth dates and dates of deaths for the deceased were on it. That was strange and I found myself wondering if my mother's dislike of me was tied to this event, but then my mother never seemed to be one to grieve for very long over anyone. I used to tell understanding relatives, that I was disturbed by the fact that when people died in my family they disappeared and never were mentioned again.

My aunt told me more details of these deaths and about these relatives, I had not known. We went on to talk about others who had died including my grandfather and memories about him.  Anyway midway through my then 13 year old cousin started crying, "Why do people have to die, Mom?" and then said "I hope you never die Mom!." He started crying and was almost inconsolable. We were surprised by his outburst but his mother consoled him, hugged him and calmed him down. I distracted him later and we watched David Letterman, one of his favorite shows to watch on non-school nights at the time.

Two weeks later after I returned home, she would be dead. The death was mysterious, a high impact car crash into a tree on the day after Christmas night. Others said she drove too fast for the road, that she had ended up curving on a road into a driveway and a tree she didn't know. This didn't make sense to me because she was in the area she had lived life long. A relative told me she had gotten in an argument with her then boyfriend and gone out to her car emotional. I don't know, the details were and remain fuzzy. The only fact was the crash was high speed, horrific and she was only 36 years old leaving her sons behind. The funeral was horrific, a week of crying. I took the death very hard. I missed my aunt very much. She was the aunt I loved and the aunt that loved me.

Dating While Fat: How I Met My Husband.

                                     [picture source]
I never expected to marry. In fact by age 25, my family had written me off as a perpetual spinster. Being an Aspie, shy and fat, I barely had dated. I placed a singles ad, detailing myself as an eccentric artist demanding finally a girlfriend and drug FREE boyfriend. In the ad I admitted I was near 300lbs. [my weight gain had begun around this time]

Using this ad, I dated a Momma's boy architect, a slow security guard, a bi-sexual man who wanted the "experience of being with a large woman", and a laughing gas addict into techno music who at the age of 35 still lived in his parent's basements. There were never any second dates.

Due to all this disappointment, I almost didn't show up on my future husband and I's first date. Expecting disappointment, I talked myself into being polite and showing up at a the Olive Garden where I then lived. It's a good thing I went and didn't let the voice in my head steer me wrong telling me to blow off the date.

He showed up wearing black jeans and leather boots. I was instantly attracted. I had worn a black top with many buttons, a semi-gothic outfit of mine with a black skirt. Oddly we matched. He was large and tall with long blonde hair. Here was no wimp. The physical attraction was strong but so was the other things that lead people to each other. He also was extremely intelligent and I could talk about anything with him. We were talking about poetry, art, music and history. I was smittened.

I was very attracted. I would go home and even write some love poetry. He had kissed me on the cheek. I would go home hoping he'd call. By the second date, we were kissing on the grounds of my old college--I still lived in the town it was in. By the third date, we were joking about getting married. We would go to spend hours and hours in the resort town where he worked as a newspaper reporter. Sometimes I would wait for him and we would go sit on the beach at midnight and into the early morning hours. That was a very romantic place for courtship with it's breaking surf, sunsets over the water, and light houses. I'd recommend the place highly to anyone for falling in love.

Our relationship would go on to be forged in fire over the next years. Both of us probably failed to know what was coming as I have detailed on this blog, with the money and health problems but this April 29, will be the 20th anniversary of that first date. 

Does Fat Make People Feel Warmer?

Personally in my case, no, I am always freezing but the thyroid stuff enters into that but heat makes me more uncomfortable on the other end.

I Survived Catholic School and My Parent's Religion

 

I love this sign. I was educated by nuns in full habit. No, they didn't get the rulers out on us. Corporal punishment was outlawed in my state by that time. In some ways being part of a smaller private school was probably easier on a bookworm fat Aspie, but it's also another way I slid through the cracks in getting any of my neurological differences dealt with outside of being labeled "gifted" at the time and put in a "Great Books" program.

Today I am a born again Christian and no longer Catholic. I left that church when I was 18 years old, but I formed the majority of my childhood memories growing up in a colonial house in a well-heeled suburb next to a large metro city where my father worked. Our house was across the street from the Catholic church, school and convent, rectory, cemetery and my best friend's home. Her father was the church's janitor. I escaped home as much as I could hanging out at all of the above for as many hours as possible between the ages of 7-13 when we moved away. To be frank, my home away from home even with my present major theological differences, probably saved me from a worse fate as I had somewhere to "belong" to and be a part of as a child.

                                                             [source: Catholicsupply.com]

I and my siblings were all born only one year apart from each other. All of us wore uniforms to school-in this case blue checkered plaid, Peter Pan Collars, saddle shoes and in my brother's case, blue pants and button down blue shirt. Some of our nuns were nice. With names like Sister Mary Helen, Margaret, Ann, and other variations.  My fifth grade teacher happened to be my favorite as I became the teacher's pet and stayed after school to help her with grading papers and cleaning the classroom. She told me all the time how smart I was and what a good artist I had become. Many of our nuns were sincere and truly wanted to "help change the world for the better" and desired to impart moral lessons.

Of course we had the mean nuns too including one who taught math and science and some days would just sit and stare at us, on a day she wasn't in the mood to lecture the class. I wonder today if she was forced into teaching via her order, and showing us her unhappiness. I don't think the nun's life ended up being a happy one for all of them. Many taught for little pay and reward and probably ended up leaving the order with the passage of years.

                                               [picture source]

From time to time I'd visit the convent behind the school when getting the rare volunteer task. The nuns lived very simply with a basement recreation room with a piano, concrete floor and folding chairs, and little bedrooms with a twin bed, crucifix and small nightstand next to the bed. I remember thinking there'd be no way I'd join a convent. While 8-10 women had a little bedroom each to call their own and a very austerely furnished house--just with the necessities-- the priests lived in a nice home across the way, with real art on the walls and golden candlesticks on the mantel and a housekeeper. These differences did not escape my youthful notice.

We had one young handsome priest who was very nice to all of us, and he was considered the "cool" priest who talked to all the kids and helped them with their problems. Years later, I would find out he had left the priesthood to get married. Probably all the junior high girls who swooned over him probably wouldn't have been surprised.

My life at the time was full of Catholic rituals and rites. This included Mass twice a week, Soup Suppers, Confession past second grade, Confirmation Class and retreats. The Retreats were fun because they were an excuse to get out of the house for a few days, but one always ended up with priests asking us weird questions and giving us personality tests and endless hours of praying, rosaries and even more boring Masses.

                                         [source Minnesota Public Radio]

My best friend's house was next to the convent, an older house, it  was part of the church complex and given to her family since they were refugees from Vietnam. The family was given jobs upon their arrival which basically was cleaning and maintenance of the church and school. All 5 kids in the family joined in on these tasks, so as I went across the street to play in the wide parking lots, or to spend time after school with my teachers, I would run into Loan and her family. My brother would befriend her brothers and we all hung out together. Her family had braved being shot at in a helicopter during the fall of Saigon, and escaped with their lives to come to America. Loan who was in third grade with me barely knew English when her family first came, but learned it fast.  I spent years immersed in Vietnamese culture, hearing her parents speak the language to the children and each other,  Asian music,  decor, sharing meals such as spicy meat dishes and rice and watching Jerry Lewis movies. I still remember the day I tried talking her dad out of turning two live ducks in a cage into dinner.

Many hours were spent playing kickball or 4-square in the huge expansive parking lots between all the buildings and exploring the cemetery with it's tombstones dated back to the 1800s. Other times, I would accompany Loan and her siblings as they were given cleaning jobs to do and her parents cleaned and polished the school's long green hallways or polished the pews and altar in church.

I was a young Aspie, shy, and mocked for being fat all the time, but with Loan and her brothers I shared a special friendship. This brought a lot of joy to my young life, and leaving on the very day of my thirteenth birthday when my family moved away was especially painful. I would write letters to Loan many of which I still have, until I was into college but we would lose contact with each other when I lost her address by accident and she had just moved due to a marriage. Years later I would have contact with one of her brothers but not be able to regain it with her.

While some of my teachers were happy enough over my decent grades and high test scores, others could not stand my inquisitive nature and found it off-putting. I often got sent to the principal's office for asking the religion teacher too many questions. I would not arrive at my later adult born again Christian faith until after years of "free-thought" and religious exploration and study and at the age of 10, I was a budding atheist. Able to read adult books by the age of 6, I read a Thomas Paine essay in a history book, and grilled the nuns with my questions. They didn't take to this too well. There was one time I was marched off to the rectory for the parish priest to yell at me, for telling a nun in religion class that Purgatory made no sense. I don't think the nuns knew what to do with a kid who was reading the Bible and books like "Late Great Planet Earth" from the library--thus knowing what the evangelicals were up to and other books on everything from evolution to famous atheists coming up with so many questions. Other times I got sent to the principal for a few fights or sassing back to teachers.  However life was easier with the teachers by far then it was at home.....

                                          [picture source]

Have any of you seen that video, "Pissed Catholic Mother" on Youtube? That one has had nearly 2 million views. I was going to embed it here but there's so many f-bombs I decided not too. The video is of a son saying he is an atheist and saying he doesn't believe in God, and his Catholic mother exploding and basically using every cuss word in the book and she threatens to take all his Christmas presents away. Chances are that is a narcissistic mother.

I saw this video years ago, this is about how well things went for me when I asked any religious questions or dared to say I did not believe in something. I feel sorry for the son in the picture. By the way if I had children, even being a born again Christian, my methods would not include religion via force or coercion.

The weirdness continued even to last year when I wrote about how we were forbidden to talk about anything "religious" at a family dinner I choose not to go to last year. Talk about Controlled minds. As a 40 something adult this crossed the lines of beyond offensive. Just so you know, I witnessed to each adult relative once or twice, and left it at that, and that was at least 10 years ago.

My narcissistic parents did use religion as a "control mechanism". and for "showtime". False pious moments cropped up between screaming and cuss out sessions.  In other words, one could get slapped for forgetting to do the "Sign of the Cross" at dinner just after hearing your Dad scream four letter words in the garage over your brother misplacing a wrench. If one accidentally ate a bologna instead of an egg salad sandwich on a Friday during Lent, all hell would break loose. Hypocrisy doesn't describe one's resultant emotions over that disconnect.

Growing up I was told I would be Catholic and nothing else. For them, I think it was mostly a social and cultural thing but they never missed a Mass. Even today my "golden child" Narcissistic sister who always got mad whenever I tried to talk about the Bible or God, never misses a Mass either. Her kids go to Catholic school too. I came from the kind of family where some relatives banned coming to my wedding because I was married to a lapsed Lutheran. Yes there are still some families like that though things have changed somewhat in the last 20 years.

                                            [picture source]
I still remember the day my mother found out I left the Catholic church to attend another church when I was 18 and out of the house at college, and she started literally screaming "Heathen!" at me as she followed me through the house. I was trying to get away and run upstairs to my bedroom. This word came out over and over as she told me what a horrible person I was.  She ripped up the church bulletin I had left in my bag she had just nosed through without my permission and told me how I was on the slippery slope to hell for being a Catholic "heretic". Ah rather ironic. The Stasi couldn't beat my mother in the control she expected to hold over your heart, mind AND religion. I am the only person in my family who ever has dared to leave the Catholic church "publicly", even those who married someone in another Christian denomination, still participate in all the family church events. My mother required her now husband to join the Catholic church before marrying him. A Methodist for at least 50 years prior, he lined right up. This was history repeating itself as my father left the Orthodox church to join the Roman Catholic church with my mother as well when he married her.

I suppose my mother didn't want to explain to her best friend from school who was a high level nun who worked with bishops but years later left the convent or to her cousin priest about her daughter, but that sort of reaction was over the top. You can just imagine what the reaction was when I tried to ask her about God or heaven, or anything of a spiritual nature when I was a younger child. I learned fast not to talk about those things with my parents. They simply were not interested and would get angry. The displays of piety were just displays.

One weird moment was having my father when we were both in the car driving somewhere tell me when I was around 19, and yelling at me for not being Catholic for the 50th time, that he didn't really believe in Catholicism either, but did it for "social reasons", and that I should too for the "peace". Pleasing my mother came first to that man, including his own and ignoring his children's beliefs, thoughts, desires and needs.

I wasn't that fat as a child by today's standards, but back in the late 1970's I was a fat kid, and teased for it constantly. This is one sad thing I remember about school, which made me cling to the good teachers a bit, and it affected my self esteem to be called "Two Ton Weight" or "Earth Quake" or "Fatty Fatty Two By Four".  I got a nickname too which was based on my last name, and I knew my then, I was "very different" but not sure why. Teachers would send home letters to my parents who ignored them about my difficulty getting along with peers and my being isolated as a result. Some of the nuns kept stricter classrooms but others didn't as well as some low paid lay teachers who let the kids run wild. Aspergers gave me the talent to read multiple books, and remember things making school an easy enterprise from that angle, but the social part of it was bad. I had my Vietnamese friends and one public school friend who was quiet and shy and liked to draw who lived down my street, and not many others.

Catholic school was very different from what public school would have been. In some ways, it was better to be in a small, private school and in other ways worse. I was fortunate to have some friends and teachers who were kind to me and there for me. So I could say "Yes I survived Catholic school and my parents too!"

Update 2019: I am no longer a Christian and have deconverted and returned to the Unitarian Universalist church. I think now about religious things and how much spiritual abuse there is when parents impose a religion on children.

Food for Thought