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.
