It was a year ago today that I actually started the WordPress blog. It’s been a long road since my first Welcome to the 1990’s post.
A long, long road.
I decided in January, as per the Program’s suggestion, to do only a once a month weigh in. Strangely enough, it didn’t drive me crazy. In fact, a few days ago, I started actually looking forward to it. I can tell a definite difference in my clothes and in my endurance. Truth be told, I’m feeling pretty damn good.
Last night, though, was a different story. I’m not sure why it was such a problem. I knew I had lost weight due to the significant difference in my clothes; I wasn’t afraid of having gained weight. But I seriously couldn’t sleep, or do anything productive for that matter.
And I did lose weight. 2.6 lbs. That’s the good news.
I can’t say that I wasn’t disappointed, but having thought about the fact that I quit smoking, that although I had accepted (in my own stubborn way) the first step (powerless over food; lives had become unmanageable) January 5, it was only a month and I’d been struggling with the third one (turn will and life over to the care of God) for most of the month, it seemed. And it wasn’t until I made that step that I really started noticing differences in my behavior.
So, overall, I’m okay with where I am.
The 2.6 lbs was the good news. The bad news is that I have many, many, many more to go.
I was doing math tonight. When I’m trying to avoid things I don’t want to do, I usually do math.
The first math I did was the amount of weight I gained during my marriage. Between January of 1998 (when I first moved to Arizona) and January of 2003, I had gained almost 150 lbs.
Yes. One-five-oh pounds in five years.
Actually, to be completely truthful, I probably had gained more than that. By the time I could get into a doctor, a few weeks had passed and I’m certain I lost some, even if it was just a few.
Had that been all of it, that would have been bad enough. But I really didn’t want to think about that time of my life, so I started doing more math, and I realized that, between shortly after my 17th birthday in 1991 and my running away in 1998, I gained somewhere in the vicinity of 70 lbs.
That’s the really, really bad news.
Last year, I tried to quit smoking. God, did I try. Several times. In the back of my mind, though, I knew that, once that was licked, I would be faced to deal with the big elephant in the room that I never, ever, ever addressed. The elephant that made me an evasive and dishonest and controlling person. I knew, knew, knew then that quitting smoking was just a step.
And I’m pretty sure that’s why I couldn’t stay smoke-free.
I knew I was working towards something bigger; when I quit smoking, after the withdrawal period, there was absolutely no compulsion to smoke. Sure, I’d have a twinge of a longing, but it was a completely different experience than any of the other times that I tried to quit. The need to smoke (with the exception of my one really, really angry day, and even that passed) was completely removed from my life.
Whatever need it filled was gone.
Which puts me here, no more excuses, beginning to take care of the next major obstacle.
Unfortunately, the weight carries with it a lot more baggage than mere smoking does. And frankly, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling broken and ashamed and (insert a whole LOTTA synonyms here) a whole bunch of other shit.
I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being deceptive and self-deprecating and, well, just not being the person that I’m supposed to be.
So I refuse to anymore.
The good news is that I don’t have 220 lbs to lose. (I’ve been backspacing throughout this post; it’s given me plenty of time to do math).
The bad news is that I do have 182.6 lbs to lose. The good news is that I really have turned it over (otherwise, I can assure you, I wouldn’t be making THIS post) and I’ll do my best, and the rest will be taken care of.
So there is my deepest, darkest secret. I was raped two days after my 17th birthday, and I’ve spent almost half my life punishing myself. By both food and putting myself in frighteningly similar situations.
And I’m done.