So, because I love you all, I have to be truthful with you also.
I’m not going to stating any whole numbers (i.e., how much I weigh or used to weigh, etc.) but other numbers might come up, and with a large amount of talking about eating disorder related subject, so I’m warning you now in case you are sensitive to those kinds of things. I don’t want to influence any of my recovering readers in any way shape or form. Please be aware; thanks.
I woke up Friday morning and weighed myself for the first time in FOUR MONTHS. Now, normally I wouldn’t go this long without weighing myself, but because of my job the three previous months, I had no scale, which now I can’t decide if it was a good or bad thing. Part of me believes this was a good thing because it moves my always recovering mind away from numbers that have previously controlled so much of my life, but then could also be a bad thing because it makes me paranoid half the time because I’ll be afraid my weight may have gone up, therefore making me extremely anxious and upset.
Anyhow, I stepped on the scale, mentally preparing myself for what the number might say because the day before, I was horribly upset with myself and my body. Let me explain:
I have known for some time that my clothes have been fitting a bit differently, but it hadn’t been getting to me as I had convinced myself that much of it was muscle I had been building from all the strength training I was getting in while in Texas.
I ran an awesome 10k with my cousin and brothers Thursday morning and felt great thereafter. I came home and prepared my homemade Vegan Shepherd’s Pie and then went to clean up and get ready to go to my great aunt’s house. I had no idea what I was going to wear, and seeing as how I’ve been missing the majority of my wardrobe for the last three months, and really since January, I had a plethora of clothes to choose from, only I didn’t. I went to try on a pair of brown pants; they were way too tight. Shrugged it off, and tried on another pair of pants; they were way too tight too. My mind at that point is a little confused. I then went for a third pair bottoms; they were also far too tight. At this time I was on the verge of tears; nothing was fitting. WTF? What was going on?
I finally resorted to a pair of bermudas that were tight, but not as much as the others. I laid on my floor, staring at the ceiling, tears rolling down the sides of my face, running over the thought of how I was a failure, letting my eating get away from me the past few months, resulting in some extra weight and tight pant bottoms. At that point I didn’t know what to think…
I kinda went through the day in a haze, numb to the core, depressed by the thought that I couldn’t fit in my pants. I was more upset about this kind of situation than I have been in years; YEARS. I should have been focusing on the fact that I was with my family, who I get to see once or twice a year with all the job changing and traveling I do, but I couldn’t. I was selfish, and absorbed in my own misery and worries.
All of this led to my stepping on the scale Friday morning, after so much anxiety the day before of what the number was going to be on the dial. I debated even stepping on it, wondering if I really even wanted to know what it said, since I knew full well it would be up from where it was last time, therefore making me feel depressed. But I did it anyhow. I was anticipating the worst, ready to take on the fact, and then probably resort to unhealthy means to rid of it as quickly as possible.
It wasn’t that bad. I was baffled; no joke. But I was still upset. Upset because like I said, I felt like a failure, letting my eating get away from me the past few months. I couldn’t convince myself that I should focus on the positive things like, I just ran my first 1/2 Marathon in San Antonio, I worked on a birding project with the second highest count in the entire United States, and just finished a 10k under the time that I wanted. Only the negatives were running through my head. So unfortunate.
I’m now at a standstill. I don’t even know what to type because I simply don’t know what to think or feel. One part of me is screaming to restrict as much as I can, run and burn off as many calories as I can, make the weight go away and go back to the “safe” foods, feelings, you name it. But the other part of me is arguing back, reminding me that if I resort to those means, I’m going to get hurt again, probably worse than before, that my running will become something of a chore and quite painful, I’ll have horrendous headaches and body aches, get moody and upset all the time, seclude myself from anything fun that I finally have piled on the courage over the past year to try, and ultimately, let all my hard work and the hard work of my friends, past significant others, and family go to waste.
I haven’t known who to turn to in all of this, as I normally would have gone to Brad, him being the one person as of late who had understood me the most and who I hadn’t felt embarrassed to talk to about it. I have many other friends, blogger friends and family who I could have gone to, but I feel like such a burden. I always, ALWAYS feel like a burden. I know I’m not, that I’m not perfect and that this recovery is something that means reaching out to people…I just don’t know.
I’m a bit lost at this point, hoping that things will sort themselves out and that I won’t lapse back into my old ways and take things drastically. I’m fighting as hard as I can in my head and so far I’m winning. But it’s hard…
I hope that this does not push you away from reading the blog, or finding me a hypocrite with all my talk about recovery, but I’ll still be here. I’m not prefect, and I’ll continue to struggle.