Yesterday I posted what I suppose could be considered Part One of what I’ve just now decided to call the “Fat Girl’s Quest” series. It documented my less than healthy, but ultimately effective, start to my weight loss journey. The timing for posting that last night and writing Part Two today couldn’t have been better, for this morning while I was doing my daily social media scroll, I had one of those ‘Your Memories on Facebook’ things pop up. I took a screenshot for you:
Yupp, that’s right. On this day one year ago I was at the peak of my weight loss journey. I had managed to lose 50 pounds through a ‘diet’ of barely eating and obsessive exercise. To say that the 12 months since then have been less than stellar would be a colossal understatement. About a week and a half after that post, I went on the most amazing 11 day vacation to London. I’ll have to tell you guys about it sometime. Anyway, when I returned home from vacay, I had the hardest time getting back on track with my exercise. As in, I didn’t exercise at all. Sure, I had a few bouts of walking on the treadmill here and there, but it was nothing like I had previously been doing. I’m still struggling. I go through these weeks where I make exercise a priority and then suddenly the next week I’m just completely drained and couldn’t make myself move after work if my life depended on it. Which, if I keep these horrible habits up, it just might.
During my obsessive exercise stint I start having quite a bit of pain in my knees. Not only do they hurt, but they make this awful, crackling sound whenever I bend them. My nurse mom and PT best friend told me it’s crepitus. So I just forgot about. That is until I was attempting to do mountain climbers during one of my random exercise benders and my foot slipped. I almost cried it hurt so badly. After about a month of it hurting more often than not, I made myself an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. Turns out the crepitus and aches in my knees is from being fat and that the number one thing I need to do is lose weight. No shit, Sherlock. I’m glad that I wasted the time and money to come here and have you tell me that. It’s not like that’s the one thought constantly running through my mind. But not only was that ‘diagnosis’ glaringly obvious, it was fucking embarrassing. I mean, while trying to not be fat anymore I hurt my knees because I’m fat. I cancelled my follow-up appointment. One, because I haven’t lost any weight and two, because my insurance wouldn’t cover the physical therapy sessions he wanted me to go to and I don’t have 500 bucks to shell out twice a week for the next 6 weeks. It’s cute that they thought I did though.
I still struggle with disordered eating. Or maybe it’s an eating disorder. But ‘eating disorder’ sounds too serious. Inaccurate. I mean, I eat. Obviously I do, otherwise I wouldn’t look like I do now. I have a close friend who suffered from an eating disorder for a number of years, and I talk to her about this stuff a lot. She tells me that on days that I binge (and wish I had the guts to purge) that I did it because my body needs the calories. She tells me that if I just ate enough to keep my body satisfied those binges wouldn’t happen. She tells me that recovery is great, but it only works if you’re ready for it, and that I’m just not ready yet. The thing is, I don’t think I need to ‘recover’. I don’t think I have anything to ‘recover’ from. Like I said, I eat. I probably eat too much. In fact, I know I eat too much. Those 50 pounds I lost last year? Yeah…well, I’ve found ’em. They dispersed themselves across my body. How can I not regret every single bite of food I take when I can feel it settling in my hips, my stomach, my thighs. How am I supposed to enjoy food, want to eat food, when all it ever does is fill me with regret, shame, and hatred. How am I supposed to enjoy food when all it’s ever done is ruin my life? Show up on the scale. Show up in the mirror. Show up in pictures. Make me feel like I’m undeserving of love, kindness, even basic human decency.
What I’m trying to say is that I’m actively trying to not eat a lot, actively trying to force myself to workout, and all I’m doing is gaining and gaining and gaining and I just don’t see the point anymore. I hate how I look, I hate how I feel, and I don’t know what to do about it.