Saturday, July 17, 2010
I have been overweight for the majority of my life. I believe the last time I was at a 'skinny' weight was when I was 10. My weight has fluctuated for so long that I thought the 'yo-yo' was a normal thing. Of course, I exaggerate about the yo-yo. I know it's not healthy for you to do that to your body. However, I will say that I have gained considerable weight over the last 10 years. It's been a slow process but it's gained up on me. And now here I am... Trying to lose it all.
However, it's not just a battle with the weight. It's also a battle with my emotional self. For years I have put up the barrier that said: "I'm fat! I'm a bitch! And I love myself!" While it was true on most days, there were days that I looked in the mirror and was thoroughly disgusted with myself. In fact, I would avoid mirrors so that I could keep my facade in place. This was my armor, after all. However, the scale told me something else a little more than a week ago. It told me that I was eating myself to death.
So I chose to make a change. I was going to get healthy and stay healthy. I was changing my life and changing the way I thought. I went through the house and got rid of all the food that was terrible for Dreygan and I. We bought a new scale to verify that we were getting the right results. We began cleaning out our lives. I was ready and rarin' to go.
Then there was Thursday. I started to feel a little down. I had stepped on the scale (like I do every morning... I know, bad choice!) and saw that I was up 0.3 lbs. I began to fear that all this change was doing nothing for me. All these changes that I had made were for naught. I didn't work out but I did stay in my caloric goal ranges. I was still doing alright.
Then yesterday... I did very well for the first half of the day but when the sun went down, I lost more and more willpower. I went over my caloric range and still wanted more. I wanted to feed this depression with potato chips and chocolate. I wanted to drown it in Pepsi and heavily sugared coffee. I wanted this skinny little bitch in me to be suffocated with the amount of food that I could shove down my gullet.
I held back. And I broke. I cried heavily for a long time. Dreygan couldn't make me feel better (and I know that it hurts him when he can't help me when I am in pain). I couldn't make me feel better. I was wallowing in misery. And while I know that one day is not the end of the world, it seemed it to me. And in some ways, it still seems it. I know that I shouldn't weigh myself everyday and that I can get obsessed with numbers on the scale... Well, maybe I am already obsessed. I need something measurable to show that what I am doing is worth it. I need something concrete to verify that what I am doing is working.
This brings me to my next thought. What am I going to be like when I plateau? What am I going to feel then when I look on the scale and see absolutely no change for a week or more? I don't want to be on this emotional roller coaster. I don't like feeling helpless and alone. Because, you see, my weight loss is emotional, physical and even spiritual in some ways. And now I just have to figure out how to balance everything.