I am kind of struggling with my own today. After yesterday's weigh in, I'm still riding a high, even though I don't think my mind has fully grasped it all yet. I'm still kind of in shock, to be honest. But something The Beard and I talked about last night seems to be dredging up an old irrational "fear"/concern of mine. Or, probably most accurately, just a stupid frigging idea that I can't seem to let go.
We were talking about my progress, my future goals, etc. Since I dropped almost 2 full BMI points, we started talking about BMIs in general and brought up the charts to look at and see where they say I "should be." He said I had to look at the 5'4" line (even though I'm 5'4 1/2" thankyouverymuch), and that chart said that I should be in the 110 - 135 pound range.
I think the last time I was that weight a few days after I was born!
:::enter Stupidity stage left:::
Now, I'm worried that at 135 pounds, I will look WEIRD. The Beard thinks that I'll look fantastic. That I'm BEING weird.
What in the Hell is wrong with me? For some reason, I've always been freaked about that. When I start losing weight, I get all of these nonsense, self-destructive thoughts: maybe I'm just supposed to be big, maybe if I get too thin I'll look weird, what if my bones are super big and I look funky? I don't want to be "too skinny," I still want a "cute" little gut (<- no really. I have said that before. What "gut" is cute unless it's a gut full of fetus?) Being too thin isn't attractive. Blah, blah, BLAH.
Sometimes the stupid stuff that comes into my mind worries me. I mean, who thinks that crap? And the worst part is, the entire time I'm sitting here thinking it, I KNOW what a load of manure it is! After several long months of very expensive, very intense therapy, I figured out why I think that way, and though it makes sense and I'm aware of the hows and whys, I'M STILL ALLOWING MYSELF TO BE STUPID. (Although, I have to say, if I lose my "girls," I'll be DEVASTATED. The Beard said I could just buy new ones if I had to though, so that works for me I guess)
Ever since I can remember, I've been "big." I've hated it, and "tried" doing something about it, but I never let myself succeed. Always with the self sabotage or, simply, just giving up. My weight was a wall for me. A big fat wall of, well... fat. Fat people aren't treated the same, fat people don't get approached by other people as much, fat people don't have to care as much. Fat people don't have to try, fat people can hide in the background and let the skinny people shine.
This fat person buried all of her pain under a nice insulating layer of fat.
Did the depression come first? Or did the fat? It's sort of a chicken/egg question for me. Which was the cause, and which was the effect? I know now that I'll never know, and I know that ultimately, it doesn't really matter. But I also know how desperate I am get break this damned wall DOWN. I shouldn't be afraid to talk to new people, thinking that they're judging me because of my weight. I'm tired of going shopping with my Mom or my girlfriends and having to shop in different stores because their stores don't carry "big girl sizes." I'm tired of little kids that don't know any better making comments about how big I am. I'm tired of "well meaning" people saying things like "So-and-so is a big girl, you know, kind of like your size." I'm tired of carrying this extra weight on my knee. I'm tired of so many things.
But most of all, I'm tired of hating myself for not fixing this, and I'm tired of the excuses. I'm tired of allowing myself to sit idly by while my health deteriorates, and my weight increases. I'm tired of making my husband, parents, family, and friends worry about my health all of the time.
So, again, even though in my brain I KNOW that at 135 pounds I won't look "weird," at this point I have decided even if it does happen, I don't care. Whenever that thought creeps up to try and steal my momentum and drain my resolve, I will just remember this: I. DON'T. CARE. I'd rather be a healthy, weird looking 135 pound chick than some unhealthy lump that weighs practically twice that! If I have to, I'll buy myself some new boobs and take solace in the fact that I'll at least have an easier time finding clothes that fit, even if I do need to choose clothes that hide my thinner yet freakish/mutant body.
That, or I'll just join a side show. Because you better believe this: WHEN I get to 135 pounds (silly me I first typed IF!), I WILL FLAUNT ALL OF IT. Small boobs, big, freaky bones and all.
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