I stepped on the scales this morning with much trepidation, knowing I had gained weight over the three months of ups and downs I’ve had since the start of October. However, I still didn’t expect the results I saw. I’m twenty pounds up since October. Twenty. Pounds. Up. I had no idea things had got that far out of control.
Now comes the time of working to get healthier, just like half the rest of the world. We cling to health and weight loss as new year’s resolutions, but I feel this is a fight for my life of sorts. I feel the effects of the weight, both mentally and physically.
As an always recovering bulimic, the desire to lose weight is particularly precarious. And this is where the numbers game comes in to play. I needed to know my weight in order to have a starting point. I don’t, however, need to start calculating every calorie in terms of how it will affect my weight loss rate. I don’t need to push it to get to a tiny shape as soon as possible; I don’t even need to make being skinny a goal. Healthy should be the goal, whatever that looks like for me.
So here’s to health. And weight loss. And training the mind and body to make healthy choices. This is my resolution, regardless of how silly and cliched that might be, and I hope to achieve it through slow but steady progress toward my goal.
Things are out of sorts for me, and, for some lovely reason, lacking a sense of control = self-destructive behaviour for me. This time, it has equalled the return of my disordered eating. I’ve eaten two small bowls of spaghetti over the past two days, and I’m still obsessed with the thought that pasta is a carb-heavy food. I know, in logical terms, that I’m not eating enough. I just feel so overwhelmed and guilty for eating at all.
That said, I do need to lose a fair bit of weight. I just can’t seem to do it in a healthy pattern. I’ll go on these near-starvation diets and lose 60 pounds in a matter of two months. Then, I’ll start eating again but start purging the minute my weight starts going back up. Then, the weight will go up to the unhealthy *heavy* size, all in a matter of months.
So what’s the driving factor? First, control. I feel like my entire life is out of control at this point. Restricting calories and obsessing over food makes me feel more in control. Second, an offhand comment. Someone recently mentioned something about my weight that has made me feel disgusting inside and out. I feel bound to prove to this person that I can, in fact, limit myself and lose weight. I guess that goes back to control, too. Never really thought of it like that until I started writing here. Hunger becomes a sign that I’ve succeeded that day. Sore muscles become a sign that I’m disciplining my body properly.
I’m scared, frustrated, and so tired of not being able to handle food in a healthier way. I have no idea how to get out of this food shame cycle, and it’s very hard to fight my mind on this subject, anyway. *sigh* Here we go again, I guess.