Reprise
I've been inactive for quite some time. Here's why I'm back:
I started having intense episodes of pain in 2012. After months of ignoring it, telling myself to suck it up, I finally had a very severe episode in the presence of my grandmother. At her insistence, I went to the hospital. I was diagnosed with gallstones, an "innumerable" amount of them.
Turns out my weight loss, which amounted to about 60-70lbs, triggered the disease. In June, they removed the organ and I was soon able to eat fatty foods without fear again. The flip side was that the foods I had turned to for weight loss started causing me pain reminiscent of the gallbladder attacks. I went from mostly greens, lean meats, water, whole grains, etc to potatoes and the buttery, fatty, salty, sugary comfort-food fare I had imbibed for most of my childhood.
The following semester, this past fall, I wrote my MA thesis. The pressure of it all meant that I turned to sugar and fast food more frequently. If I was sitting at a desk for 5 or 6 hours on end, stressed out of my mind, I might as well nom on some M&Ms and swig Coke for liquid energy, right?
Since then, I've graduated. I no longer have access to mental health care. My antidepressant prescription is gone and I find myself turning to sugar for mood boosts. At the moment, I do not have a job and I live alone. I sleep a lot and at irregular intervals. When I am awake, I tend to be sedentary. The longer I live like this, the harder it is to convince myself to leave the house even for necessities like groceries. I'd rather eat expired Ramen than deal with the grocery store, and when I do go out, I am prone to nerves and panic.
This weekend I tried going out to a restaurant with my sister and ended up walking out before we were even seated. "I can't do this, I can't do this" I chanted. It felt like my stomach was crawling up through my throat. My breath came in frequent, forceful spurts and I had to forcefully prevent myself from crying and vomiting. Besides that, all of my mental energy was consumed by a desire to lock myself into a dark, quiet place alone. [I used to do that in undergrad. Ferrum gave me one of the music practice rooms for a pseudo-office. I would run there in the middle of the day, lock myself in, curl up under the upright piano and bask in emotional/mental pain that I did not believe qualified as anything deserving of treatment. I've come a long way, so this regression is disturbing.]
So here I am. I sit at home watching TV, sleeping, and downing sodas and candy. There's no where in public I feel comfortable going. The proliferation of job apps I have out in various places means there's no point in a gym membership because I could have to move at a moment's notice. In truth? I feel to ashamed to even try a gym. And even if I weren't ashamed, this hermit mentality means I wouldn't want to go anyway.
My life is on hold and I am coping the same way I always did growing up: food and fiction.
It's no wonder I am noticing weight gain.
I am hoping that if I can commit to this journal again, I can try to be healthier. I miss feeling good about losing weight. I have no idea what I weigh currently, but my size 26 pants that were loose are becoming hard to put on. (This is still better than the 32s I was wearing in December 2011, though).
Since my last foray here, I have also tried to educate myself about body positivity, but I admit to experiencing greater conflict now than ever before. Before, losing weight was laudable, no matter what. Now if I lose weight, I start wondering if I'm falling into the socio-cultural traps I see laid out in articles.
But I am also miserable as is. I have minimal flexibility, little energy, and I feel pathetic, grotesque, and ashamed of my appearance and my current state of mental health.
Bottom line, I want to feel better about myself. I remember what it was like to take long walks, jog up flights of stairs, and feel exhilarated rather than winded. It was awesome to go to a plus-sized store and not have to choose the biggest size on the rack. I could pull on a shirt and admire the way it looked on me. In those moments, I felt proud and lovable. I want to recapture that. I want to feel in control and not at the mercy of sugar or fast-food cravings.
Yes, it's problematic that I should need external signs of weight loss (or accomplishment, whatever) to feel that way.
So here we are.
Support is always welcome, but most of me feels so ashamed of myself I'm tempted to make this whole endeavor private. I'll take my journal's name to heart, for now.
Chin(s) up, Whit.
I started having intense episodes of pain in 2012. After months of ignoring it, telling myself to suck it up, I finally had a very severe episode in the presence of my grandmother. At her insistence, I went to the hospital. I was diagnosed with gallstones, an "innumerable" amount of them.
Turns out my weight loss, which amounted to about 60-70lbs, triggered the disease. In June, they removed the organ and I was soon able to eat fatty foods without fear again. The flip side was that the foods I had turned to for weight loss started causing me pain reminiscent of the gallbladder attacks. I went from mostly greens, lean meats, water, whole grains, etc to potatoes and the buttery, fatty, salty, sugary comfort-food fare I had imbibed for most of my childhood.
The following semester, this past fall, I wrote my MA thesis. The pressure of it all meant that I turned to sugar and fast food more frequently. If I was sitting at a desk for 5 or 6 hours on end, stressed out of my mind, I might as well nom on some M&Ms and swig Coke for liquid energy, right?
Since then, I've graduated. I no longer have access to mental health care. My antidepressant prescription is gone and I find myself turning to sugar for mood boosts. At the moment, I do not have a job and I live alone. I sleep a lot and at irregular intervals. When I am awake, I tend to be sedentary. The longer I live like this, the harder it is to convince myself to leave the house even for necessities like groceries. I'd rather eat expired Ramen than deal with the grocery store, and when I do go out, I am prone to nerves and panic.
This weekend I tried going out to a restaurant with my sister and ended up walking out before we were even seated. "I can't do this, I can't do this" I chanted. It felt like my stomach was crawling up through my throat. My breath came in frequent, forceful spurts and I had to forcefully prevent myself from crying and vomiting. Besides that, all of my mental energy was consumed by a desire to lock myself into a dark, quiet place alone. [I used to do that in undergrad. Ferrum gave me one of the music practice rooms for a pseudo-office. I would run there in the middle of the day, lock myself in, curl up under the upright piano and bask in emotional/mental pain that I did not believe qualified as anything deserving of treatment. I've come a long way, so this regression is disturbing.]
So here I am. I sit at home watching TV, sleeping, and downing sodas and candy. There's no where in public I feel comfortable going. The proliferation of job apps I have out in various places means there's no point in a gym membership because I could have to move at a moment's notice. In truth? I feel to ashamed to even try a gym. And even if I weren't ashamed, this hermit mentality means I wouldn't want to go anyway.
My life is on hold and I am coping the same way I always did growing up: food and fiction.
It's no wonder I am noticing weight gain.
I am hoping that if I can commit to this journal again, I can try to be healthier. I miss feeling good about losing weight. I have no idea what I weigh currently, but my size 26 pants that were loose are becoming hard to put on. (This is still better than the 32s I was wearing in December 2011, though).
Since my last foray here, I have also tried to educate myself about body positivity, but I admit to experiencing greater conflict now than ever before. Before, losing weight was laudable, no matter what. Now if I lose weight, I start wondering if I'm falling into the socio-cultural traps I see laid out in articles.
But I am also miserable as is. I have minimal flexibility, little energy, and I feel pathetic, grotesque, and ashamed of my appearance and my current state of mental health.
Bottom line, I want to feel better about myself. I remember what it was like to take long walks, jog up flights of stairs, and feel exhilarated rather than winded. It was awesome to go to a plus-sized store and not have to choose the biggest size on the rack. I could pull on a shirt and admire the way it looked on me. In those moments, I felt proud and lovable. I want to recapture that. I want to feel in control and not at the mercy of sugar or fast-food cravings.
Yes, it's problematic that I should need external signs of weight loss (or accomplishment, whatever) to feel that way.
So here we are.
Support is always welcome, but most of me feels so ashamed of myself I'm tempted to make this whole endeavor private. I'll take my journal's name to heart, for now.
Chin(s) up, Whit.