Well, the scale doesn’t hide the thunder in my thighs. I am currently up 40 pounds since April. I could point my finger at so many things: medication, an addiction to coca cola, too many friend’s dates, too much stress, etc. However, blaming doesn’t do anything for my bulging muffin top. I currently fit in nothing except dresses (admittedly loose fitting dresses). Luckily, fortunately, I can still give Wawa the gift of seasonably inappropriate pajamas. If the day comes that I can’t get out of the house in my Grinchmas pants, I will ruefully consign myself to a life not too dissimilar of Gilbert Grape’s Mom. (except I would make moves on Johnny Depp, because damn…)
Am I distressed? Yeah – very. I have a handful of “fat clothes” and I don’t even fit in them. I haven’t been this heavy since I had my daughter.
So, clearly this brings me to a head or an impasse, however you feel like looking at it. I want to vomit every time I eat. I want to make myself throw up, so that I can stop gaining, and start hopefully losing weight. The math is ticking in my mind. If I start, I should be able to lose 25 lbs within a month or less. If I do that for 2 months, I’ll be back on track. If I start, I can probably begin starving in 2 weeks. If I starve for 2 weeks, I’ll be able to shorten my timeline or get ahead of things. My body is racking against my mind. If I start, my throat will be sore and raw within 1 week. If I starve, I will be exhausted constantly. I will feel weak constantly. I will think about food constantly. If I’m honest, I love how it feels when my stomach is cramping from hunger. It’s a sick feeling of satisfaction, from 19 years of training. 19 years… damn that’s a long road of bad habit and intentions.
I cannot say it’s been 19 years straight. I would take breaks, and be healthy. I’ve actually lost the most weight, weirdly, when I am pregnant, because I focus so much on every morsel that enters my mouth. I ensure every bite would benefit the baby as much as possible. It’s funny how well I’ll take care of someone else, yet I’m perfectly willing to live off of a slice of ham, cheese, and a handful of vitamins for weeks.
I digress, anyway, so I have that series of events, or I can diet, or I can accept it and move on, right? Here’s what I know: the more I fight myself, the more miserable I will get. The harder I work to lose weight, the more I will obsess with my weight. The more I focus on this issue, the bigger it (and likely I) will get. This is true for all of life and is likely as profound an observation as informing you the sky remains blue.
So, what do I do? Well, accountability and honesty is crucial. I’ve always looked at all of this like an addiction. I don’t know how other people feel, but to me, I enjoy it. I sickly enjoy making myself sick or starving myself. I am not a skinny person, either. I think that is why this is so pernicious for me, because no matter how much I hurt, the pounds won’t completely come off. That’s why I have never been able to stop this. I’ve always been the fat kid.
And that, right there, is where I think I need to focus. Why the hell do I think of myself like that? Why do I stare at cellulite or stretch marks and just hate myself for it? I’m not happy with my size or body, and prior to the medications I started, I was making some amazing in-roads in my body with Yoga and hiking. I wasn’t focused on losing weight; I was focused on becoming the me I want to be.
Nothing is going to change externally if I don’t change my internal monologue. In further news, water continues to be wet! My internal monologue can’t be running commentary on every morsel, calorie count, and metabolic reaction, or I will vomit as much to lose weight as to shut my brain up.
I started declining fast food invites, because it will be too tempting to vomit. I did go get sushi and didn’t overeat. I cut out the soda, because I need to anyway, and I finally got back to drinking 2 or more liters of water a day. I’m not going to play by play my menu, I find that shit boring. You can go anywhere for diet tips or whatever. For me, I’m trying to stop being some sort of diet dictator, or masochist. I’m really tired of hurting myself. Instead of focusing on the potential losses, I’m focusing on the potential harm. I’m a mom of 3 kids now. What if I damage my heart? Christ, what if I choke on my own vomit? These are realities that I like to ignore.
I’m also focusing on potential gains. On the positive, I may not have had any milkshakes comprised of ice cream sandwiches (god that was good), I may not happily sipped a chocolate frosty with some fries, but I did get addicted to chia pudding. Instead of feeding the sweet tooth craving with Coke, I’ve been getting Alo Juice which actually kind of makes me feel like a little kid again. I’m also hooked on nuts again, and I’ll just leave that like that, since I can’t not be a little kid when it comes to dick and fart jokes.
“Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be” ~Alan Watts
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