I have not written about my weight-loss "journey" in a while. Mostly because I feel like there isn't much to tell and I feel like I have let myself down, along with everyone who was pulling for me. I have avoided the discussion, the process and mostly...the scale. It isn't like I didn't know what it would say when I got on it this morning. I struggle to put on clothes everyday. I know what I've done. I know what has happened. I am ashamed and discouraged. And, while I don't spend a lot of time talking or writing about my journey these days, there is never a moment that passes that I am not thinking about it. Not one moment that I am not thinking about what I'm eating, drinking, how much I'm moving, if my clothes are tight or if I look in a mirror. There is no escape.
I saw the Rug Doctor last week and told her how I was feeling. I told her that it would be so much easier if I was either completely engaged in my success and dedicated to reaching my goals or completely accepting of my failure and inevitable lifestyle. This in-between place is hard. This constant struggle with myself is exhausting and defeating. She said, "That's because you have hope." I immediately stopped her, "Don't you dare say I have hope, I don't." I do not have hope because there is no reason to have it. I continued and told her that I had a desire for my life to be different, that is completely different than having hope. She said that this desire for change is a distant cousin to hope. I don't care what family tree desire and hope are on, I just know I'm not related.
The Rug Doctor and I continued on talking about where I am at and what that means. I mean, it's a journey, it isn't over, right? I feel like it's over. I feel like I had this huge momentum after the surgery to get started, to change. And, little by little, I did. And then life happens, as it does, and things happen and my progress slowed and then stopped when I got hurt. All of the expectations I had for myself, to be healthier and stronger and wearing a little black dress, where are they now? Instead of a long stall, I have now gone backwards and gained weight back. Most people can't understand what that feels like or what that means to a lifetime fat person. I saw a light for a while and for the first time, I was not just thinking about moving towards it, I was running towards it. And just when it was at it's brightest, it suddenly was gone. All the milestones...wrapping a towel all the way around, going to Victoria Secrets...those boots, my first pair of knee high boots. I literally sat there during my session with tears raging down my face and sobbing about those damn boots. Those damn boots that represented so much to me, that meant so much, that made me feel powerful. Like I had accomplished something. Those damn boots that are sitting in my closet right now that currently don't fit. I cried so hard and it hurt so bad. Over boots. Cried over them like they were a lost child. Even at this moment writing about them cuts me to the core.
So, why write about this stuff? No one wants to read gloom and doom. I write it because I feel like a fraud. Because I feel like I promised myself and those around me such big things and I failed and it hurts. And I write because of the people that read this blog, for whatever reason, and struggle with weight just like I do. It would not be the real journey if I left this part out. This hard part. This part that sucks. I am, if nothing else, real. I try to be, anyway. I can't pretend that everything is okay and that I am okay and that this is just a bump in the road. That's bullshit. This is hard. I have no more figured out today than I did three years ago. I have people that told me that I inspired them to lose weight. That cuts the deepest. I sure as hell am not an inspiration now. I'm pretty much just the girl that can tell you what to do if you want to throw it all away. Anyway, whatever, it's where I am. No denying that.
And so, the journey...I so hate that word...journey...the journey is far from over (unless I die tonight or sometime soon and then, it's totally over), so I have no choice. I just keep fighting. It's all I know, it's what I do. I have no new program or surgery or plan. I just have to do it. That's always been the case. And, I better do something soon because now I have this stupid short hair and this big pumpkin head and I look like Tommy Boy in all my clothes.
That pretty much concludes tonight's episode of, "Wow, she's gained a lot of weight back. How sad."
Next milestone...clown pants.
I saw the Rug Doctor last week and told her how I was feeling. I told her that it would be so much easier if I was either completely engaged in my success and dedicated to reaching my goals or completely accepting of my failure and inevitable lifestyle. This in-between place is hard. This constant struggle with myself is exhausting and defeating. She said, "That's because you have hope." I immediately stopped her, "Don't you dare say I have hope, I don't." I do not have hope because there is no reason to have it. I continued and told her that I had a desire for my life to be different, that is completely different than having hope. She said that this desire for change is a distant cousin to hope. I don't care what family tree desire and hope are on, I just know I'm not related.
The Rug Doctor and I continued on talking about where I am at and what that means. I mean, it's a journey, it isn't over, right? I feel like it's over. I feel like I had this huge momentum after the surgery to get started, to change. And, little by little, I did. And then life happens, as it does, and things happen and my progress slowed and then stopped when I got hurt. All of the expectations I had for myself, to be healthier and stronger and wearing a little black dress, where are they now? Instead of a long stall, I have now gone backwards and gained weight back. Most people can't understand what that feels like or what that means to a lifetime fat person. I saw a light for a while and for the first time, I was not just thinking about moving towards it, I was running towards it. And just when it was at it's brightest, it suddenly was gone. All the milestones...wrapping a towel all the way around, going to Victoria Secrets...those boots, my first pair of knee high boots. I literally sat there during my session with tears raging down my face and sobbing about those damn boots. Those damn boots that represented so much to me, that meant so much, that made me feel powerful. Like I had accomplished something. Those damn boots that are sitting in my closet right now that currently don't fit. I cried so hard and it hurt so bad. Over boots. Cried over them like they were a lost child. Even at this moment writing about them cuts me to the core.
So, why write about this stuff? No one wants to read gloom and doom. I write it because I feel like a fraud. Because I feel like I promised myself and those around me such big things and I failed and it hurts. And I write because of the people that read this blog, for whatever reason, and struggle with weight just like I do. It would not be the real journey if I left this part out. This hard part. This part that sucks. I am, if nothing else, real. I try to be, anyway. I can't pretend that everything is okay and that I am okay and that this is just a bump in the road. That's bullshit. This is hard. I have no more figured out today than I did three years ago. I have people that told me that I inspired them to lose weight. That cuts the deepest. I sure as hell am not an inspiration now. I'm pretty much just the girl that can tell you what to do if you want to throw it all away. Anyway, whatever, it's where I am. No denying that.
And so, the journey...I so hate that word...journey...the journey is far from over (unless I die tonight or sometime soon and then, it's totally over), so I have no choice. I just keep fighting. It's all I know, it's what I do. I have no new program or surgery or plan. I just have to do it. That's always been the case. And, I better do something soon because now I have this stupid short hair and this big pumpkin head and I look like Tommy Boy in all my clothes.
That pretty much concludes tonight's episode of, "Wow, she's gained a lot of weight back. How sad."
Next milestone...clown pants.
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