Yeah so it’s February the 16th and I’m still fat. The brightness of the new year has faded; the enthusiasm and motivation for further change dissipated. Trickled through my fingers like water, the freshness of 2018 worn off, replaced with the realities of life.
The humidity is heavy and so am I.
I went off track somewhere back in late December. Driven mental by a festive combination of Christmas chaos and hysterical children I turned to Cheezels. Then drive thru. And Baileys. And just like that, the floodgates opened and I went hell for leather on eating my emotions. I find stress really responds well to carbs. It wasn’t just the food though, I’ve become progressively more disinterested in the gym. It’s not you gym, it’s me. I’m just not into you anymore. Nothing has changed there but there’s been a distinct change in how I feel about going there. I feel like an outsider in a place I once felt so connected to. I don’t know how to fit it in my life anymore. Or maybe it’s me that doesn’t fit in there? Either way, I’m self aware enough to know it’s not working so something needs to change in the exercise department.
It’s February the 16th and old habits die hard. The creep of the scale upwards. The reluctance to socialise. The self loathing returned. The helpless, hopeless feelings that I thought gone, returned. Pushing upwards, choking me. A lifetime of being labelled fat, of disordered eating of, self hatred isn’t so easily banished I guess. I lie awake at night wondering what to do. My mind goes to the surgery. To diets. Just eat less and move more. If only it were that easy. You’re just greedy. You’re just lazy. Maybe. But the truth is more complicated than that. Food is my poison, my disease. And I’ve let it go viral once more.
The most frustrating part of this whole thing is that every other bit of me is in such a good place. Mentally I feel resilient and settled. Strong. Happy. But this, this damn issue. This battle. This demon. How do I banish you? How do I overcome this snowball of disorder and damage? Years of being called morbidly obese, a blimp. Of being told I needed stomach stapling when I was a size 12. If you’re a cynical hard ass who doesn’t believe words have an impact, well let me present exhibit A. Me. The girl who self fulfilled the prophecy of words and labels and became exactly what I was told I was, when I really, truly wasn’t.
I wish it were just a bad day, but it’s been a few bad weeks. But maybe, just maybe, owning up to what is going on, is the first step to clawing back this part of myself. Of stopping the spiral, before it’s completely out of control.
I read a quote today. By chance it appeared.
“You cannot defeat darkness by running from it, nor can you conquer your inner demons by hiding them from the world. In order to defeat the darkness, you must bring it into the light.” (Seth Adam Smith.)
And that friends, is exactly what this here (badly written) blog is. A confrontation. A conflict between me and it. Out in the open. In the light. For you. For me. For the haters even. My pain isn’t private. It never has been. I walk around with it clinging to me. It is there for all to see. And people will write to me and tell me I shouldn’t share this. That this is private. For a therapist, for hushed conversations lest people know my struggle. But I will not apologise for making someone uncomfortable with my truth, with this conflict. I can direct you elsewhere if you wish. You see, the only damn way I’m going to defeat this once and for all, is by getting very, very uncomfortable with myself and my past and current behaviours and beliefs. And that there, is the answer.
It’s as easy and as hard as that.