My doctor put the fear of (deity/deities of choice here) in me a year ago today (August 1, 2005) about the high risk I was running of developing Type 2 diabetes. I was ready to get into an argument with him at the time (and a nasty one at that), but I actually took the time to listen to him about some stuff he'd been warning me about more than a year earlier - changing diet and adding regular exercise to the mix.

I also managed to keep the appointment he arranged the following week with a nutritionist from the local hospital - and I was glad I did! She gave me tips and dietary advice I could RELATE to, and (since the number of chins I had in recent photos told their own story) actually wanted to take - reducing portions, dropping the white refined starches and sugars where possible, and adding more actual fruits and vegetables to my diet, while keeping the meat (but choosing leaner cuts).

So, armed with this knowledge, I began my walk (literally, since that's been my most frequent exercise) back toward health, and back toward being able to face myself in the mirror.

After a month or so, I was punching new holes in my belts.

After two months, people were recognizing the changes in my face and my physique.

At three months, when I went back to my doctor, he gave me the rundown of what my efforts had given me (noticeably lower blood pressure, blood sugar, and cholesterol), and what they had cost me (29 pounds, with around 10 more lost since then - I was already back under 200 pounds and didn't realize it, since I still rarely weigh myself!)

I haven't cried at each of these little milestones, but I've wanted to... not out of pain, or mourning (although other family members' past struggles were clearly on my mind throughout), but rather crying from joy, and from the satisfaction that I lost weight that I seriously needed to lose for the maintenance of my good health, and used no surgery, gimmick products or activities to achieve that goal.

Live (happily and healthily, and protect yourself whenever you can!)
Love (safely, responsibly and respectfully whenever you can!)
Life (with care and joy - because your presence in this life really does affects so many others!)

(The following statement was originally posted earlier today on the "Gay Men with Depression" tribe on Tribe as an answer to the question "What's so gay about depression?" - however, I decided to repost it here...)

In my case, it's these dueling feelings - that society sees me, "young and black and fine and gay" (to quote Audre Lorde), as a (varying degrees of) "valuable pelt"; but also that I have a cultural legacy/legacies that seem to have some social/commercial cachet that the larger culture wants little bits and pieces of. On top of that, I still have to try to live my own life, with all of the experiences (positive and negative) therein, within a society that has always preferred conformity to a strong degree despite platitudes and national constitutions claiming "freedom of..." or "freedom to..."

Everytime I have turned around, I get told or shown that my thoughts, my life, and my love of peace and comfort - and my feeling that others are entitled to the same - are less popular than I think it should be in this society that "liberty and justice" are supposed to be (on paper, at least) the bases of... and that lacking is something I take personally, maybe more than I probably should, to the point of letting it severely compromise the good relationships in my life - including the intimate ones with those men who love me and whom I should be loving as fully as I can in return.

Then again, not having been exposed to a sufficient amount of loving relationships in my much younger years (let alone loving relationshps involving someone of the same gender) and being overexposed to a lot of drama-bearing relationships that were less than healthy, how would I even know that you're supposed to REGULARLY do more than just say you love 'em and break off some dick-ass action every now and then? Of course, all that does is spread the bad feelings around, having the other partner(-s) wondering where things went wrong, if they were ever right to begin with.

NBA break: I had Detroit in seven. It looks like I'm about to be wrong...( (but enough about sports) )