Here I go again . . .
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
This is not a New Year's resolution. I have resolved to lose weight at the beginning of every year since I was in high school, and I never succeed for long.
I just turned 29. And I'm at my highest weight ever, which is eleven pounds more than my previous highest weight from January of last year, despite having lost 40 pounds between January and May of 2008. Gained it all back, and more.
The emotional component is the worst. I am so depressed, and so tired of this. I am so afraid that I will never succeed at losing weight. I'm sad, so I eat. I'm lonely, so I eat. I'm anxious about the future, so I eat. I'm not sure how to deal with or even name what I'm feeling, so I eat. I feel guilty and ashamed for eating, so I eat some more.
And the last few weeks, I've been even more isolated and alone. It started when I moved back to Texas from Virginia so I could eventually go to grad school. I left all my friends in Virginia, and came back to my home town to live with my mother, which is two hours from where I went to college and where my Texas friends are. I took a job at the hospital I worked at years ago, and haven't made friends at work--not one. I hate my job. I haven't made any other friends here either in the four months I've been back. My fifteen-year-old cat was my child, confidante, best friend, and the best part of every day, but he died of liver cancer three weeks ago, and now I'm all alone.
My mom doesn't understand. And she can't fill this void, because I already feel like she and I are codependent and I constantly adjust myself to her moods. It's not a real friendship. I can't set boundaries with her or talk to her honestly about how I feel. She tries to help me, but her comments make me feel worse most of the time.
I am to the point I don't want to leave the house if I don't have to. I don't want people to see me. I was at a stoplight the other day in my car, and this car full of four college guys pulled up next to me. One of them rolled down his window and motioned for me to do the same. I did so, thinking there might be something wrong with my car or something. He asked me where the nearest McDonald's was. He and his friends were laughing, so I shook my head and smiled--baffled--and pointed to the McDonald's on the corner across the street and said "there's one right there". To which he replied, "You look like you would know where they are, you must eat there a lot." And all of them laughed at me. It was AWFUL. And since then, I hate to be anywhere in public.
I got invited to a New Year's Eve party with my college friends about a two-hour drive away. At first, I was excited to be going. I talked to a friend on the phone before getting ready, and he told me who would be there. I showered and dressed. And then I just SAT. I sat on the bed and thought about who would be there and who would see how much weight I've gained since the last time I saw them, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't go. So I called and told my friend I was too tired to drive, that I was afraid I'd fall asleep at the wheel. But the truth is, I was too afraid and ashamed for them to see me.
Then on New Year's Day, I watched a marathon of documentaries about super-morbidly-obese people, and I thought, I am going to end up 800 pounds and they'll have to cut me out of my house like these poor, poor people. Over and over the medical professionals on the shows cited a statistic that fewer than five percent of people who are "morbidly obese" are able to lose the weight and keep it off.
I want to be part of that five percent. But I'm so scared my scarred psyche won't let me. I'm a compulsive overeater. I don't know if I can change that.