An emotional dump from the depths of my pathetic soul.

I’ve reached the point of discomfort in my life where I can’t ignore the obvious anymore: I need to lose some weight. It’s been two years now since my last surgery, and I’ve gained back all the weight I lost when I was sick. I knew it would happen, and I could’ve taken more aggressive steps to keep it in check, but I didn’t. I remember buying new clothes after my surgery, when I finally felt good enough to wear something besides pajamas and yoga pants all the time, and it was nice to feel good and look good at the same time. But even then, I said I would rather be fat than feel that deathly ill ever again. I still feel that way. If I had to choose between being this weight for the rest of my life or being miserable with Crohn’s Disease, I’ll choose the fat every time.

But I HATE HATE HATE the idea of having to watch what I eat and exercise. It’s an idea front-loaded with failure and disappointment and denial and lots of other unpleasantness. It’s been a lifelong struggle for me, and the idea of saying, “Okay I’m going to try this again,” just makes me FURIOUS. Fuck you, health, why do I have to do this? Why is it so hard for me and not for other people? Of course I naturally assume any formal attempt at weight loss will eventually lead to gaining back whatever I might lose, because it’s always been that way. Then I scold myself for being so negative, and calling it failure before I’ve even begun, and of course I will fail if I have such a poor attitude. Then I tell my Pollyanna inner voice to go fuck off. Anger is running the show in my head right now, obviously. Being angry lets me off the hook for doing anything right now. I can reject any hopeful statements or encouraging words because it’s all bullshit and it won’t work for me.

One thing I am adamant about: I refuse to go on anything called a “diet.” I’m not buying any books, or joining any programs or ordering special food or joining a health club or anything that costs me money. I’ve done it all, it doesn’t work in the long run and I’m not doing it again. The only way I will make any permanent changes is within my own head. Otherwise it will only be temporary, like it always has been.

Over the last year or so, I’ve done my best to embrace the idea of “body positivity.” I want to be happy with who I am and not base my worth on my clothing size or what I weigh or how I think I look. I try not to participate in conversations with other women that center around how fat we are or are not, or how awful something looks on someone, or any kind of body-bashing. (I also get pissed off by the whole “real women have curves” dogma. So skinny women aren’t real? Fuck that.) I’ve also done enough Photoshop work to know that even models don’t look as perfect in real life as they do on the page. We’ve all been sold a really damaging bill of goods by the fashion industry, and has it helped anyone? NO.

I think I’ve made some headway on the acceptance thing. My body is what it is. I can dress pretty well when I want to. I don’t actively HATE MYSELF every time I look in the mirror. If my weight was steady, I would probably be okay with it. But it’s slowly creeping up, and I know it’s going to continue creeping up if I don’t make some changes. I’m not at my highest weight ever. That’s still about 20 pounds away, but I’d prefer not to get there again.

So, yeah. Eat right. Exercise. This is where I am. I look at those words and I want to punch something, or someone. The food I eat is really not that bad, I just tend to eat too much of it. I love food. I love it too much.

As much as I love food, I hate exercising. The only exercise I really enjoy is yoga, and the kind of yoga I do is not the calorie-burning kind. I need cardio, and I am COMPLETELY FUCKING LAZY. Minimally, I need half an hour a day. I really should probably do more than that, but 30 minutes is the least I should do. And that’s nothing, right? I can find half an hour, right? Surely I can give up half an hour of whatever nothing I’m doing after work, right? Right.

God, I fucking HATE reading all my bullshit and knowing I’d just rather get my endorphins from inhaling a bag of Doritos instead of walking or yoga.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I guess the first thing I have to do is get over myself. When will I ever get over this? I drag this anvil around and complain about how heavy it is. Well guess what? Let go of it.

I may add more thoughts here as they coalesce in my head. I get very emotional and kind of incoherent when I write about this.


An emotional dump from the depths of my pathetic soul.

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