I need to blog. Blogging is so cathartic in so many ways, but I always stop doing it. Life gets in the way, and I start to come to realizations and it comes to my attention that I am not at all who I pretend to be.
I make lame excuses about my weight, like:
"Yeah, I'm fat, but I like food so whatevs."
"Meh. I'm not hurting anyone with my weight and [terrible] eating habits."
I get sick... a lot, and I use having a school age child as an excuse for that.
But what happens when it's Spring Break, and my school age child is not sick, and I am light-headed, and nauseous, and just overall miserable? Then it stops being excusable. It stops being something I can avoid and pretend isn't an issue. Then I need to push the reset button on my life and my digestive system. It stops being manageable and becomes a life altering sickness that only I can fix.
I know it's up to me.
I know I am the only one who can do this.
I know I come to this conclusion literally ALL the time.
And yet, nothing.
I am still this sickly thing that is aware of herself and the hell I am putting my body through.
The other day a friend of mine popped in who I haven't seen in years. The last time I saw her, she weighed in around 260 pounds - only about 10 less than the point I am currently at. 2 days ago I saw her and she weighed a measly 115 pounds. This was not from working out, or eating healthily. It was from being sick and totally unable to consume more than roughly 200 calories at a time, followed by an embarrassing rush to the bathroom to vomit. Her face showed the signs of this sickness. She was sunken in. Probably the roundest face I had ever seen had become skeletal. She has been sick for about 4 years and still has no idea what the cause of this sickness is, and every doctor says a different thing.
I know my thinking is disordered and out of sorts because I actually thought, "Why can't I get sick like that?" The truth is, I am hovering dangerously close to that sort of sickness, and at any time the scales could be tipped to my detriment, and once that happens, it will be nearly impossible to stop, provided I am not already there. My body is telling me something is wrong, or coming very close to being wrong.
Time to restart the journey. Time to fix myself, truth be damned. I can't keep living life with a sour stomach and a pile of anger and nowhere to put it.