A Rough Sunday

I had a meltdown tonight.

In cleaning out my closets earlier today, a single silk dress became a glaring symbol of my epic failure at weight loss and maintaining my physical health. A bridesmaid’s dress that I wore in a friend’s wedding when I was 5 months pregnant with Nolan. Granted, it was a bit tight at the time, as I had ordered it before I even found out I was pregnant and hadn’t anticipated being 5 months along at the time of the wedding. …as I was going through and putting together a donations pile, I pulled this dress from my closet and tried it on. I couldn’t even zip it all the way. It barely fit over my hips.
…then I had to just go take a nap. I couldn’t even think about how much I had failed myself.

I drank a little too much last night and was feeling particularly old and hangovery today and didn’t go run my errands earlier in the day as I normally would have. I headed to the grocery store with Nolan around 5:30pm. We didn’t get home until nearly 7pm. I was already kind of out of it and frustrated with him; he didn’t have a nap and was starting to get pretty fussy and ornery. Then here came Mike to help me with the groceries… except really to question me about our 10-year-old’s Bio Dad buying him a TV for his room. I knew Bio Dad had a bought a TV – but I thought it was for his house, not ours. I had no idea that while I was at the grocery store, Bio Dad had brought this television home along with James and installed it in his room. I went to talk to James about it and he got very dramatic and wouldn’t even look at me and I kind of lost it. I smacked my hand on the table and told him to look at me while I was speaking to him – then Nolan tried to go shooting out the front door, and I grabbed him and he started flipping out, and then Mike is telling me to take a break… I went upstairs and slammed a few doors (because I’m 12) and took some deep breaths.
I’m still angry. I still don’t even really know why I’m angry. Maybe because of the TV miscommunication? Maybe because I’m angry at myself for getting/being so fat?

That’s certainly part of it… I almost skipped dinner because I thought to myself, “A fat fuck like you doesn’t need to eat any dinner anyway.” But I’m not sure if I really believe that – I’m just being dramatic with myself.
I feel so far away from where I was a few years ago with my motivation to be strong and healthy… I don’t even know how to get back there. It all seems too overwhelming. And then I get discouraged, because last year I was so active, but I gained so much weight. And I know a big piece of that was not tracking food… but does that mean I have to track food for the rest of my life? And if not, does it mean that any time I get sad or stressed out I can expect to pack on thirty pounds while I figure it all out? I surely hope not.

This morning I realized I haven’t weighed myself in almost a month… and at first I thought, “Well, because I don’t really care about my weight right now.” But I don’t think that’s actually true at all. I think I don’t want to see that number because it overwhelms me and destroys me and makes me feel like I’ll never “get it together” – whatever the fuck it even means to “get it together.”
All the clothes I had to put in the donation pile today… things I’ve been holding onto for over a year because they’ll fit “in a few months” and the continuing disappointment of continuing to gain pounds and inches… the fact that I’m wearing men’s large shirts and sweaters because women’s clothing doesn’t even fit me right anymore… the fact that some of those men’s shirts are extra-large… I feel completely out of control. I don’t feel good about myself. And maybe I shouldn’t define myself by what I look like or how fat or thin I am – but it bothers me. And maybe that’s a societal thing and I shouldn’t feel pressured to be any certain size or shape, but then I think “fuck that” because I do not feel good right now. And that is real. I feel tired, uncomfortable, and like I’m not physically capable of doing lots of things that I enjoy doing. And those things have nothing to with my weight or my body shape or the size of my pants. I want to enjoy my life and be able to move in the ways that I enjoy without feeling like it’s killing me, and the reality is to do that, I either need to pack on a crap-ton of muscle to haul this over-200-pound body around, or I need to shed some fat. Honestly, I want both. …except when it comes to the actual execution of a plan to get me there.

I’ll work it out. Maybe. Someday.
…boy, we just kind of jumped right back into it all, didn’t we folks? Ha.
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