Here I am again for the 142nd time talking about my weight. I’m so bored with this topic. You? If so, you can skip this post because you’ve heard it all before. I’ve got to stick around because I have some shit in my head that needs to come out.
In 2016 I lost 15 lbs. and managed to keep it off.
In 2017 I lost 15 more.
In the second half of 2018 I gained most of it back – about 20 lbs. As soon as I hit the lowest number on the scale I’d seen in a decade, I fell off the wagon.
Really? There’s some kind of message in there but I’ll be god damned if I can figure it out. I remember how happy and light I felt and how it felt to see sizes I hadn’t seen in a long while and how good it felt to get rid of all my fat clothes.
Note to self: do not give away fat clothes until you’re sure you’re not going to need them. It’s expensive. And stupid. And sad.
And then poof! The holidays brought with it a new round of depression which conveniently was drizzled with holiday calories in the form of cakes and candies and high fat high carb food and I decided that it would be a good time let my self hate shine and just eat my face off. That old voice in my head that had been quiet for so long piped up to say, “It’s okay. Just eat it. You can always take the extra pounds off after in the new year.”
Fuck you old voice. You suck.
God I am so sick of this roller coaster. I told my therapist (and I’ve said this before on this blog) that I don’t necessarily want to be skinny, I just want to find peace with myself and food. I want to like who I am enough to feed myself well and moderately exercise. I’d like to want to extend my life that way. I want to care and I want it to stick.
What I do not want is for the first thought I have when I wake up in the morning to be, “I wonder if my clothes will fit today.” I do not want to be consumed with how I look and how I believe people are judging me.
Question: It’s none of my business what people think so why do I care so much whether or not they are judging me about my weight?
Answer: Because I am judging me about my weight which means everyone else must be as well.
I mean duh!
I’m smart enough to know that’s not a healthy way to think but not yet smart enough to know what to do about it. But I digress.
I do not want to keep postponing my yearly physical because I don’t want the doctor to know how much weight I’ve gained back. I do not want her to write, “Obesity” on my chart again and I do not want to come out of that office with a bad photocopy of The Mediterranean Diet which she has given me every year for the last 8 years with the exception of last year because, of course, I had everything under control.
It’s a chicken and egg thing for me. Does the reoccurrence of the depression create the weight gain or does the weight gain create the reoccurrence of the depression? I think it’s the former but who really knows? Not me…that’s for dang sure.
I ask the hubs not to bring crap in the house and in he comes with brownies, chocolate, goldfish and cookies. Why? Why does he insist on doing that?
Because he knows me.
He knows if it’s not there I’ll just go out and get it. He knows that something is going on inside me right now that needs comfort and simply eliminating it won’t fix what’s wrong. He knows I’ll be even more unhappy if I don’t have it than I am when I do have it so he brings it home. There’s not a soul in that house forcing me to eat it but honest to Christ it gives me comfort to know it’s there.
What. The. Actual. Hell?
This goes deep people. I feel like if I can crack this code I can maybe make some progress in mending what’s broken inside of me. In healing that deep and wide hole in my soul that doesn’t seem to ever close. Not with food, or cigarettes, or exercise, or alcohol, or back to food. It just sits there begging to be healed.
How do I heal a chasm that’s been growing since I was a child? The meds definitely help but clearly they aren’t the answer. They only lift the fog enough for me to see that there are things I can do to actual heal this wound. The only problem is that those things seem so vast and endless that I can’t get my brain around it all. Plus, they’ve been written in another language and I haven’t figured out how to translate it into language that my heart can understand.
Hmmm…writing that last paragraph actually felt pretty good. To put into words what I’ve been feeling for so long is kind of powerful. The miracle of blogging strikes again!!!