Mum's the Word

Weight Weight, Don't Tell Me

I feel the distinct need to stop typing and close down my browser at this moment. Today I want to write about something difficult for me and part of me really would rather go downstairs and watch something fluffy on TiVo. Of course, that's part of my problem, so... here goes.

I'm fat.

That's not news to anyone who knows me, though if anyone here is reading who knows me, I'm sort of in trouble, since this isn't my public blog. But it's nothing people who look at me can't see. I'm not hiding anything.

Or rather, I'm not hiding anything outwardly. Inside there's a lot going on, despite having wrestled with the fact of my body for 35 some-odd years now. Therapy helped some. Some. I don't hate myself with the vehemence I did in my twenties. I still try not to think about myself from the neck down, though.

When I was in my twenties I used to wear makeup. I had a rather elaborate morning routine that included foundation, powder, eyeliner, mascara and shadow, blush, lip liner and lipstick - everything. And I had a large amount to choose from. Buying makeup was sort of a hobby. I amassed quite a collection and used it all regularly. But the weird thing was that I would spend all this time doing my makeup and then I'd put on a ratty t-shirt and pants, my beat up hiking boots and a baseball cap and go to work (I worked in a field that allowed a pretty wide range of clothing selections, since I didn't work with the public). My hair has always been a problem since it's frizzy and I'm unwilling to spend more than 5 minutes on it at any time. And my body... I just didn't want to think about it. It took a therapist to make me realize that there was a disconnect for someone who spent that much time and money on her face and so very little on the rest of her.

The oddest thing was that for the longest time, I wasn't even particularly heavy. It's been an up and down thing for me, all starting when I was about 11. That's nearly 25 years, people. You'd think I could get my act together by now. And I have - at times. Throughout high school I gained weight, until I hit about 170 lbs. Then I went to college and hated where I was and stopped eating. I dropped 40 lbs and at 130 lbs I looked the best I had in my adult life. I have a pretty big frame so 130-140 is a good range for me.

I stayed at that weight until my college boyfriend moved out here. I distinctly remember the day he told me he was going to move from his East Coast home to my area. We had met at a high school leadership conference and kept in touch. He called often, we wrote - we were friends. When he moved out here... I didn't really think I wanted more than that. I was a junior in college and I'd never had a boyfriend. I didn't actually want one. I liked my life very much the way it was.

But I never said any of that.

Instead, I became a Girlfriend. I slept with him the second night he was in town. I felt like a slut but I pretended I was giddy with him. Sometimes I was happy with him. Sometimes I was miserable. He was a kid and so was I. He didn't really want a serious girlfriend (he wanted regular sex), but I became one. I was very serious. We fought a lot - about places he wanted to go (strip joints in the city, for example), how late he'd be out (three, four in the morning), girls he kept in touch with (I was the jealous type and in time it became pretty clear that I had foundation. He was a cheater)... everything.

And during the two and a half years we were together my weight crept up and up and up. By the time we got engaged (engaged, folks! That's how good I am at deluding myself!) I was 180 lbs. I cried when I looked at the pictures we took in Europe, where he'd proposed. And I finally decided to do something about it.

Enter Jenny Craig. I was merciless with myself. I never cheated. I exercised daily. I remember stuffing corn chips in my mouth and chewing them and then spitting them in the trash. I was terrible to myself.

And our fights got worse and worse.

Finally, everything came to a head. About 3 weeks after I'd hit my goal weight (135 lbs), we had a terrible fight. We'd bought a house (all in my name because I had credit and he didn't - also he hadn't filed taxes in three years... I can really pick 'em) and he announced that he wouldn't be moving with me. It was over.

Those were some of the hardest months of my life. I hated myself. I was furious with the house I moved into alone. I was angry and lonely and scared. I stopped eating. I lost about 8 lbs before I began eating again and even then it was not much.

It was during this time that I met the man who became AnonaDad. We began seeing each other about 6 months after I broke up with East Coast guy and we've been together ever since. That was about 13 years ago. And, of course, my weight has been steadily rising ever since.

That's not strictly true, actually. My weight has yo-yo'd all over the place since we got together. I've never been at 130 lbs again, but I'd gain 10 lbs, lose 2, gain 20, lose 5, gain 40, lose 12, gain gain gain...

I actually lost weight when I was pregnant with AnonaGirl. I was on a strict diet (gestational diabetes) and between the lack of carbs and no alcohol, I was down a lot after her birth. When I got pregnant with her, I weighed 252 lbs - my highest weight ever. When I went in for my induction, I weighed 234 lbs. And three weeks after her birth I was 208.

I had so many plans to lose weight as soon as she was born. I would breastfeed - that would help. I would exercise by walking my baby around the neighborhood. I would eat right - I knew I could from the diabetes diet.

But, of course, everything went to hell.

I couldn't breastfeed. And my relationship with my boobs in a whole post unto itself. Suffice it to say, even when I'm thin, they're big and I hate them and always have. When they didn't work? I was furious. I was angry that I couldn't feed my baby and I raged that I'd carried these mofo's around with me for 25 years and the joke was on me. They were huge and useless. And my hopes of breastfeeding helping me lose weight were gone.

And, of course, the weight came back.

Today I weigh 245.5 lbs. I am miserable. I am constantly uncomfortable. My clothes (what little I have) fits poorly. My husband, rightfully so, does not find me attractive and we have no sex life. There are a million and one reasons for me to lose weight.

So of course, yesterday I went to a restaurant and had potato skins, 3 glasses of wine and an apple cobbler and I'm tempted to do it again tomorrow.

I have tried it all. Jenny Craig, Stop the Insanity, Weight Watchers, Overeaters Anonymous, The Zone, the Rotation Diet, cleanses, laxatives... I could go on. I don't know what do to. I know if I keep this up, it will kill me. I have a history of diabetes, high blood pressure and congestive heart failure in my family - it's what killed my father at 56. I feel like the smoker whose family has all had cancer but who lights up anyway. I know what I'm doing to myself. It's slow suicide.

And I have this amazing little baby who I would kill for. And I want to be there for her and I want to be a good example for her and I don't don't don't want her to hate herself or her body. I don't want her to go through what I went through.

What I'm going through.

But neither do I know how to stop, how to change.

Labels: Confession is Good for the Soul

posted by AnonaMum @ 10:13 AM