Watch Me Shrink

This is not fun to write. 

Over the years, my weight has gone up. Way, way up. I diet. I exercise. But I have trouble sticking with it, and I almost always get to the point where I think, "why bother?" And then I give up. 

me (right) in high school 

young me with my husband and firstborn daughter

with my youngest child, five years after the photo above it

a year after the photo above this one

weight really going up now. This was three years ago. 

At this point, I officially hate having my photo taken. 

I especially hate my arms. 

I look at these photos, and I see the masked unhappiness on my face. 

Savannah vacation. I spent hours obsessing over "covering" outfits for the vacation. Cover my skin. My eyes. My feelings. 

I hate the camera. This was last year. 

another last year photo. I didn't want to attend this event because of my weight, fearing being the fattest girl in the room. 

I waited on the bench because I didn't feel up to climbing stairs in the heat. My weight keeps me from having fun. 

Things have happened to my mind since I've gained all this weight:

I make excuses to avoid social events. Headaches, don't feel good, whatever. I make excuses. 

Upon entering a room, I immediately scan it to see if I'm the fattest person in the room. If I find someone my size, I make eye contact and smile. I understand, I think to myself, willing them to hear me. 

I wear ugly clothes. Baggy. Ill-fitting. Uncomfortable clothes. The better to hide in. 

I hate eating in public. I feel all the eyes on me, judging me. Even if it's not actually happening. This is especially true at fast food places. 

I feel anxiety at the doctor's office. My numbers are all good. But my blood pressure goes up a lot in triage because they take it before they weigh me. 

I do not enjoy sex. 

The scale has, at times, meant too much for me. It could make or ruin a day in the blink of an eye. 

I joined Weight Watchers. I chose the earliest meeting possible. And I would weigh myself in several outfits to see which one made me weigh "less" before the meeting. Even if it was snowing, I'd wear light clothing. And I wouldn't eat or drink a thing before weigh-in at the meeting. Obsessed. 

Every time I give up, I gain even more weight. I was 135 when I met my husband. I'm more than a hundred pounds heavier now. 

Something has to change. 

Physical things happen to me, too:

My ankle hurts all the time. 

My feet hurt halfway through the day. 

I sweat easily. 

My bladder has weakened with the extra weight on it. 

I get heat rashes. 

And chafing. 

I retain water. 

Something has to change. 

I've considered hcg, bariatric surgery. I've joined clubs. I've tried every diet I know. 

Nothing works. 

I don't know how to lose weight properly anymore. But I have to keep trying. So, I'm reading stuff. I'm making "clean" meals. And I'm implementing small strategies. I want to kick obesity's ass. And I'm inviting you to watch my progress. Because I need all the help, all the cheerleaders, I can get. 

I'll post an update every Saturday.