Depression enables you to think. To mull over in your mind all the ways you’ve ruined your own life. All the bad decisions and mistakes you’ve made. The time you’ve wasted. The missed chances and opportunities. And the longer you dwell the more depressed you feel, but the intrusive obsessive thoughts that enter a brain with OCD and PTSD don’t allow you to dismiss these things that are in the past, unchangable you just sit there and hate yourself for them.
The closest in my brain right now is my weight. January 2, 2013 I decided I was done being a prisoner in my body. I was done being fat and I was going to finally reach my goal weight of 135lbs. I weighed in a 235. A daunting task. But I counted every calorie, I did the couch to 5k, I went to spin classes, did kickboxing and martial arts twice a week. I ran 5k races and by November my weight was 147. So close. I was skinny, tho body dysmorphia is real and I thought I was fat. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t happy yet, I thought maybe I had to hit that magic number on the scale of 135 and I’d miraculously wake up happy.
And then hubby got sick. We lost our house to foreclosure, we moved, we lost our car to repossession. I got complacent and stopped doing as much working out and my diet wasn’t as good, and weight creeped on till I had gained 40 pounds. I realized what was happening and I reluctantly tried a “program” I wasn’t (and really still aren’t) a fan of “programs”. I did 21 day fix for about 5-6 months and lost a bunch of weight and many more inches. I looked good. I looked and was strong. But still I wasn’t happy. It’s amazing how you think the shape and size of your body will be what makes or breaks happiness because I can speak from experience it didn’t for me. I hated myself and my body as much at 147 as 157 as 197 and at 237.
After the move I followed the 21 day fix eating plan but not the workouts – my hip was hurting and there just never seemed to be time. Then the food went little by little. I started walking 2-4 miles a day with my neighbor but eventually my hip was excruciating. So after months of doctors passing me around it was determined I tore the labrum of my hip. Awesome. But the doctor who fixes them felt I should live with it for a year and see what happens.
(The above was written a couple days ago, I had to push the post aside for a couple days to talk about and do other stuff but it’s all still on my mind)
So anyway the walks ceased, the workouts non-existant (how do you work out when you are in chronic pain?). And my food went to crap. I ate too many carbs, not enough protein and not enough fresh fruit and fiber.
Then came “the breakdown”. By the time that happened I didn’t care what I put in my mouth. I broke (and still break) my number one rule- never drink your calories- with vanilla chai tea from dunkin donuts (340 calories), and caramel frappes from McDonald’s (680 calories). I ate candy bars- something I hadn’t done in years, and carbs carbs and more carbs. The worst thing for me personally is carbs. I am insulin resistance (which will lead to diabetes) but I just can’t muster the strength to care about what’s going into my mouth. If it tastes good, it makes me feel better…. for a little while, but the unfortunate thing about food addiction is that after you get your fix, you feel worse than ever. I feel gross, I feel like a blimp. I hate being winded all the time, I hate feeling like going up the stairs is a cardio workout…. but obviously I don’t care enough to do anything about it.
And meals- I used to cook awesome meals. Casseroles, roasts, steak, pork chops, nice healthy meals every night of the week. Now my idea of cooking is toaster waffles, cereal, hot dogs, pasta…. today I am roasting a chicken in the crockpot because my brother is coming, but I am making rice because peeling potatoes is way too much work. I’ve been thinking about Easter- no idea what I will make for dinner if anything. If the kids aren’t home maybe we will go out to lunch or just eat whatever.
Anyway, all this backstory to say that when I stepped on the scale on Tuesday at the doctor’s office I stepped on the scale and not only did I gain weight- a lot of weight- 14lbs in 14 days, but I am 2 pounds away from where I was on January 2nd 2013 when I started my journey of weight loss. I am sure by the time I go to the doctor on the 13th or 14th can’t remember which day now, I will be at or over where I was that day. When I think about it, it’s like all that never happened. I wish it had never happened. I wish I hadn’t had a taste of what a size 4 felt like. I wish I didn’t have the taste of what it feels like to be able to go to any store and buy anything you want. At least then I wouldn’t know what I am missing. At least then I wouldn’t be a failure. At least then I wouldn’t feel like people are looking at me thinking “wow she really let herself go” or “Wow she did so well and now she’s a blimp”. I know people probably aren’t thinking that in general but I can promise you that at least a few people have thought that, how can they not when someone gains close to 100 pounds?
I want to care about my weight enough to change, but I only care about it enough to hate myself. I want to care about what I eat to eat what I should be eating, but I don’t care about it until it’s passed my lips and sinking like a stone in my stomach.
I have done some thought about gastric bypass, but I know I have to change my relationship with food to be successful, but I think I also need something that can force me to not eat so much crap. I wish I had someone here to slap me every time I put a candy bar to my lips. Or pull up to that drive thru.
I wonder how big I will get before I care, I wonder if I will ever care. I have one pair of pants I can wear that aren’t leggings (and only 2 pairs of leggings that aren’t too tight) and those pants, I have to lay down and button and zip them. I struggle to breathe the entire time I am wearing them and it pushes a lot of my pooch fat above the jeans so my spare tire looks even bigger. Im disgusting. My face is round like a beach ball. There’s definitely no thigh gap. There’s not muscle definition on any part of my body anymore.
I was referred to another surgeon about my hip- he wouldn’t take me on as a patient because I am too fat. Yet more proof that as a fat person I don’t deserve to feel good, look good, do things I want to do, or even deserve treatment. No wonder I hate myself so much. I’m worthless- all my life that’s the message I have received, and the one I continue to receive even from the medical community.
I think it’s naptime before my brother comes over. I’m already exhausted and it’s only 11am.