I begged my amazingly talented wife to put up a blog for me when I started my official duty as a SAHD. I had grand visions of what I would do with such a public outlet and my mind raced with ideas of things I would talk about. I was going to start slow, a couple of updates a week at first. I would garner an audience and then branch out to reviews and social commentary in an attempt to build my internet empire. I dreamed of being the next big thing on the internet. I thought I had an original story to tell and that people around the world would tweet wildly about my adventures and mishaps. We were going to monetize this “fame” to supplement our income and I was so fired up to get this show on the road!

Well, here I am 3 months after my last entry and my empire consists of 3 posts and about 7 comments. For this, I am truly sorry. I apologize not only to Lynda, who took the time to put this blog together for me, but to anyone who even for a minute gave a damn about my existence. I have rewarded your friendly words by ignoring you and that just isn’t right. I will try to do better from here.

I need this. I really do. For some strange reason I keep telling myself that I don’t really need an outlet. I’ve tried to be content just letting each day pass by me, letting my inner battles work themselves out. Things are starting to boil over in my head and it’s time that I started getting some of this out. I have some work to do.

When I manage to get Noah down for a nap, rather than get my fat ass up and come to the computer, I sit contently watching TV and occasionally checking Twitter from my iPhone. I’m fucking sick of it. I’m tired of the way I’m living my life. I’m ashamed that I’m not living the life I want my kids to be able to live. It’s time for me to start fixing things. It’s time to fix ME so that my kids and my wife can have the best father and husband possible for as long as possible. I think the best first step I can take it to lay some some truth. Some real life shit about me and what I feel I need to fix.

1. Weight

I currently weigh somewhere north of 400lbs. I’m not sure of the exact number at this point, but the scale we have only goes to 400 and all it shows me is “EE”. If the scale could scream, I’m sure it would. The last time I got an exact weight was probably a year ago and I believe I was around 424lbs. I’ve been fat as long as I can remember. I have a memory from around probably 5 or 6 years old of my sister telling my mom that they needed to get the extra weight off of me while it was still “baby fat”. She said it would melt off quickly if they acted early, but if they let it go it would set in and be harder. I didn’t think much of her words at the time, but now they echo in my head and haunt me.

I have wrestled with a lot of feelings about how and why obesity got the best of me. I could easily blame my mom, but in the last few years I’ve learned things about her that somehow give her clemency from this issue. I’m not saying she wasn’t a contributing factor, but the blame can only be placed on me. I didn’t have to have seconds at every meal. We always ate family style and if there was food in front of me I would eat it. I remember my dad telling me I needed to slow down and wait awhile before going for more to let my stomach realize it was full. I didn’t care, I just wanted the food in my mouth. I loved the way it tasted and the way it felt to chew. I loved the way it felt to swallow and the warm feeling in my stomach as it filled. I remember several instances in which I ate so much that I would throw up. I put myself through ridiculous amounts of pain and discomfort because of my love of food. For years and years I ignored the facts and tried to blame my metabolism or my “big bones”.

Now, at 31 years old, I am literally cutting years off of my life by continuing my horrible eating habits. I’m drowning in my own fat and putting myself at risk for all sorts of horrible things. I feel horrible all the time and the tiniest little task leaves me sore, tired and gasping for breath. Oh yeah, that brings me to another point.

2. Smoking

Yeah, I said it. I’m a smoker. I don’t talk about this much at all because honestly, I’m ashamed. But I think that’s a good thing. Please don’t lump me in with your normal perceptions of smokers. I don’t flaunt my “right” to smoke in public places. I don’t smoke inside the house and would never think of lighting up around someone who didn’t smoke unless I had their express written permission. I try to be as considerate as possible, but I’m coming to realize there is no such thing as consideration for others while partaking in a habit that can kill you.

I’ve been smoking for 12 years now. Fuck! I can’t believe I just typed that. 12 FUCKING YEARS! It seems even more horrible written out like that. And yes, if you’re doing the math, that means I started when I was 19. I was old enough to know all the risks associated with smoking but I did it anyway. One night when I was at college a friend offered me a cigarette at a party and I accepted. I was in one of those phases that I was willing to try things that had been so taboo to me before. Smoking almost killed my father when I was around 2 years old. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the emphysema he was left with was a constant reminder of the damage it could cause. When that cigarette was offered to me, I really didn’t even think about it. I didn’t immediately start at a pack a day, but it didn’t take long for me to warm up to the habit I have today. I told myself for years that I wasn’t addicted and could stop if I wanted to. I lied about it to Lynda for a long time because I knew how much she detests it. Now I’ve realized that I really am addicted and it’s going to be very hard to kick, but I have to. I can feel the negative effect it is having on my health. I cough constantly. I wheeze after walking up the stairs. I can only play with Elias for a few moments before I get so winded I have to sit down. You would think being fat would be enough, but no, I have to go and make it as hard as possible on myself.

3. My Attitude Stinks Lately

Lately I’ve been quite a little bitch. That’s really the best term for it. I complain constantly to Lynda about how much I hate being at home all the time, or how much I hate having a baby on or around me so much. I gripe and moan about how much I hate myself for losing job after job. I get down on myself constantly for little mistakes while completely ignoring the serious issues I should be doing something about. Lynda told me the other day that I use the word “hate” too much. I shrugged it off at the time, but she’s right. That’s all that’s been coming out of my mouth lately is hate, hate, hate. I don’t know how she can stand my constant griping. The worst part is that I haven’t really been careful about my attitude in front of my kids. I try to keep a positive attitude around them but I let it slip WAY too often. I don’t want Elias to start saying “I hate this” and “I hate that”.

I just feel like I’m in such a rut lately. I talk all the time about how much I want to go back to work but I’ve done hardly anything about it. I’ve applied to I think 2 jobs in the last couple of months. Like I said earlier, rather than get my ass to the computer I’d rather veg in from of the tube. Every little thing lately has been getting to me and setting me off in various levels of rage and depression.

I just feel completely overwhelmed. I feel like I’ve dug a hole for myself so deep I can’t even see the light anymore. I feel like there is just so much that needs to be fixed, I don’t even know where to start. I’m tired of suffering and I am tired of my family suffering because of me.

Oy, I don’t even know what else to write at this point. I’ve been writing this for a couple of hours now and my brain feels like mush and it feels like I’m rambling. I don’t know where I’m going to start, I just know I have to. Why am I posting this here? Why do I feel the need to share this with a group of relative strangers?

I need support. I need encouragement. I need help.

Any ideas?