Friday, December 19, 2008

Native American Eating

Throughout my time dieting, I've learned a lot of things about how my body responds to certain food. Processed sugar? Bad. Bread? Bad. I started doing a little research a while back, and realized that my dad might have given me more than just good hair. I might have inherited my mom's tiny bone structure, but my dad gave me his digestive system. I blame this system for my inability to be thin while eating pasta, but, after reading a bit about Native Americans and the diet that they ate, I can understand why.

I found an awesome page called Guts and Grease that explains what the Native Americans ate, and how we've screwed them over by making Western foods more available than the type of food they were used to. An interesting fact:

They are 2.6 times more likely to have diabetes than non-Hispanic whites of similar age. ((From Native American Diabetes by David Mendosa))

So knowing this, look at what type of food we can get for cheap. Bread, milk, things Natives weren't really used to, but most people would consider healthy. An awesome quote from Guts and Grease:

Modern food writers who assure us we can enjoy the superb health of the American Indian by eating low fat foods and canned fruits have done the public a great disservice. The basis of the Indian diet was guts and grease, not waffles and skimmed milk.

I agree completely. So while I look weird when I eat my beans and meat with fat and such, don't think that it's some hokey weird-ass diet. I'm going back to my roots, and not surprisingly, I'm losing fat doing it.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008


I've gotten past the idea of being an anonymous blogger. I doubt many people read this, but those who do know exactly who I am. I've read pro ana blogs where they have to be anonymous because they're worried someone will find out who they are and put them in a hospital for their eating disorder. I'm not that bad with mine, so I don't have that fear. If there's others out there who go through things similar to me, I want them to know they're not alone. I'm not just some imaginary person on the internet, I'm out there working every day and playing my music. I'm not going to go away because I'm not going to let this disorder get the better of me. I refuse to let it own me, like some ana girls really really want. It's painful to live this way, but in my case, it's not fatal and it won't become fatal. So I'm not going to hide this blog, or my face.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Spain and Christmas

Around this time of year, I start remembering my grandmother. She died when I was in college, and I never really knew her, but her loss impacted me more than I ever imagined. Suddenly, we didn't get any fantastic Christmas packages from Spain. My uncle sends a few things, but not like my grandmother did. She'd pack us turron (almond candy), chesnuts, wine (from our vineyard), chocolate, olives, and there would be so much of it it would last us several months. I remember not really liking the turron, but now, as I've grown older, I suddenly have cravings for it. Maybe it's because I haven't had it in several years.

My grandmother died around Christmas time. In Spain, we celebrate the Epiphany, which is in January. I went to Spain during this time to see her in the hospital. It sucked having the entire country be happy while my family was going through the worst possible thing we could ever imagine. My mom never really got allong with her mom, but she took care of her more than anyone else. The first thing my mom did after coming to America was spend her hard-earned money to buy my grandparents new furniture. They being pretty well off as land owners, it was no big deal, but to my mom it was everything. Anyhow, my mom stuck by my grandmother until after the Epiphany. My grandmother had an annurism so they thought she might pull through. About a week after my mom returned home, she flew back to Spain. Made (pronounced mah-day), had another one, and she wouldn't recover. They pulled the plug, and she died a day after my mom got there.

Like I said, I never really knew my grandmother, but I realize now how much her loss impacted my family. My dad, being an indian and somewhat of a rarity in my mom's tiny town, was deeply saddened by the lady who never once showed any sort of racism towards him that the rest of Europe did. My mom, while she had complained about neglect as a kid, fell into a depression that only recently has begun to lift. My uncles became even bigger assholes, fighting over their inheritance, and one of them even threatened my mother with leaving my grandfather to his own devices if she didn't sign over her own inheritance. I never asked her if she did this or not, since he's the brother who lives with my grandfather, and takes care of him, and my mom can't do that. I hope she didn't, but I'd understand if she did.

To me, I remember a few things about my grandmother, nameley the time I was offended when she called me "morena" (dark skin and hair), because I was too dumb and young to realize it was no big deal. Then, during my high school goth phase, when I was putting on black lipstick, and she made a scared face after seeing me. I laughed, but I felt awkward at the time. We didn't speak eachothers language, but she communicated with me enough that I knew she loved me.

I've had this overwhelming need to go to Spain, for the past few months. Getting ready to marry Noj has made me realize how much I miss my own second home. His whole family is here, mine isn't. More than anything, I miss the atmosphere. The heat during the summer, the view of the mountains, the endless stars at night, the smell of chickens and rabbits in the back yard. I miss the cooking, because holy shit, my family can cook. My mom is an aweful cook, but for some reason when she is in Spain, she seems to communicate with my grandmother's spirit and manages to cook the most amazing food imaginable. You can't get that kind of stuff in the US, not even imported, because it doesn't grow here and it tastes shitty if it's not fresh. My eating disorder makes it impossible for me to enjoy any of these memories, because they're coupled with guilt. In my family, food is life, food is love. To me, food is torture. So love and life go hand in hand with torture, making my memories of Spain worse than they should be.

I miss it so much. I'd give anything to take Noj there, to show him where I come from, and why I love it so much. I have a feeling through, that I won't be able to for another few years. That much is about as depressing as my weight.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Body Dysmorphia

Sometimes when I feel depressed, I count my blessings. This becomes harder and harder as I not only save up for a wedding while working on moving to another apartment, and I work on ridding myself of an eating disorder. The eating disorder is harder to deal with, since it's coupled with paranoia. Oftentimes, I think the world is against me, and that people only compliment me because they don't know any better, or they're just trying to be nice. I often feel like everyone is lying to me. I even feel that way about my fiance, even though I know it isn't true. The problem is that when you have body dymorphic disorder, you constantly think about your appearence, and you constantly think it is different from the way it very well may be.

At the moment, I am a "normal" weight. However, I will never see that. I will always see myself as extremely overweight and unattractive, which is why I've been so depressed lately. Money issues have forced my fiance and I to eat rather cheaply, which in turn makes me depressed. I've gained maybe five pounds, having to eat this way. My fiance disagrees, but I can feel it. And I'm so upset about it that it makes me sick of doing just about everything. I don't want to go out or talk to people, like I usually would. It's very crippling. The worst part is that sometimes, I don't know if I'm right or not. I don't know if I'm actually hungry, or if I'm just depressed. If I'm full, or just denying myself food. If I've gained weight, or if I just feel as if I have.

One thing is certain, I can't wait until I finally get my first paycheck from this job. I've had to wait a month before I get my first one, which forces me to depend on my fiance until then. I hate that feeling, but I am grateful that he is there for me. In the meantime, I have to suck it up and eat what we have. Even if it makes me sick.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

A change in plans...

For the past five months, I've been planning a wedding. My dream was to get married at St. Matthew's Cathedral, and to have a nice reception at a hotel closeby. On Sunday, Willy and I came to a conclusion that would ultimately result in the wedding of my dreams. I was happy for all of 24 hours.

Yesterday, my dreams came crashing down when I was notified that my roommates were suddenly moving out. Apparently, her company is moving to Maryland, and she needs the job so she will follow them. She and her boyfriend (who has lived with us for over a year, for free) will probably move to his mom's house or some such deal. This all came conveniently as the month ended, when they promised they would have a car. They have been carless for over a year, requiring Willy and myself to drive them every morning around 6 AM, and for Willy to spend late hours at work waiting to pick them up.

So all of a sudden, they're moving out. This means that unless we can find a roommate to take their place, we'll have to move to a smaller apartment. Breaking the lease and putting a deposit on another apartment means $400 extra from us, plus, more money towards rent. We'll be able to afford a studio apartment, but we won't be getting cable, and I'm going to try braving the cold by wearing more layers so we don't use too much heat. All of this while I'm trying to plan our wedding.

Last night I decided that I might as well change our plans. Instead of the big wedding of my dreams, I'm going to ask Father Joe if we can get married at his church instead, Holy Family. It's an adorable little church in Maryland, and it has a reception hall. Probably out 100 guests will fill the place out completely. Well, that's honestly not so bad. We visited Father Joe in August, and it was absolutely beautiful there. Since our wedding is in July, I'm hoping that it will be a pretty day, with bright sunshine and no clouds. I'm hoping.