30-Day Challenge

I didn't weigh myself again today. It's been a little while. I'm worried that I'm at my death weight; years ago I made an agreement - a pact of sorts - with another blogger who sadly no longer posts that if we ever reached a certain weight we deserved to die. I'm scared to death (pardon the pun) that if I get on the scales today I'll see that number staring back on me, and I won't know what to do. I'm not at the place I was when I made that agreement; I don't think your weight is a live-or-die situation. But still...

Most of the time, I'm ok. Life is good. I have a wonderful, handsome, intelligent husband (referred to as 'A' throughout this blog, for new readers) and a loving marriage. We live in a lovely, bright, airy house with wooden floors and lots of windows, and pay a minimal amount of rent to A's parents. My dream job which started out as a 6-month contract has been repeatedly extended for the last 2 years. My family is great, my parents are happily married, my siblings and I are the best of friends. I couldn't ask for more. Nothing's missing. And yet... Sometimes I just feel so restless; something dark and empty and searching draws open inside of me and threatens to pull me down into itself. And I lean over the edge and look...

what is that, down there in the darkness?

It's not so much that I want to die. Not really. I like being alive. I have fun here on the earth. More importantly, I have responsibilities here, I've made commitments to people. I'd just like to know what it would be like not to be so present all the time. So physical. Sometimes don't you feel so tired and so heavy, and you can barely move, and you think, "but wouldn't it just be nice to be flimsy and unreal? Just not to be all the time..."

Anyway, on to the topic of the post: I came downstairs feeling a little glum from all this musing, flipped open my computer, and saw this post by Cinnamon Brown, who's starting this challenge, hosted by the lovely Ariana, as of June 1st (that is, tomorrow). It sounds like the perfect antidote to this humdrum state. It goes like this: you set up your plan - how many calories you want to eat, what workout schedule you're following, etc. - then are completely accountable and honest about your successes and failures. Every day you also answer a question from the challenge page, to get you thinking about what you're doing and why, and to keep things interesting :) I'm going to add some pictures to the mix (no, not of myself - that's not going to inspire *anyone*!), just because I talk so much and give you so little to look at! I haven't figured out my plan yet, but will do a little research today and post it this evening.

Do join us - nothing like a little kick start to the summer! Or winter, for those in the 'other' hemisphere :)

 

A while

I know I've been kind of absent lately. Partly it's just busyness, partly I have nothing of interest to say, and partly I'm just feeling kind of discouraged. I'm trying really hard not to be so focused on what I look like, or how that makes me feel, but with limited success.

I "know" that there are more important things in the world than the circumference of my thighs.
I "know" that there are beautiful thin women and beautiful fat women.
I "know" that a person's value doesn't lie in whether or not they're physically attractive.
I "know" that no-one's ever the most beautiful person in the room. If you have the most beautiful hair, she'll have the most beautiful eyes, and she'll have the most beautiful smile, and she'll have the best legs, and, and, and...

I know, I know, I know!

But I'm just struggling to rest in that knowledge. There's always this little voice that says, "but what other option do you have? What can you offer the world if not your body? You've no talents, you've no charm, or wit, or kindness to give." And I think, "maybe she's right. If I don't get this one thing right, I'll be nothing."

In other news, I went to see the psychiatrist last week. She didn't give me a bipolar diagnosis, though she did place me on the bipolar spectrum, around the 'rapid mood cycling' mark. That's ok; I was just so relieved to be officially not diagnosed. Later in the week, though, she called to say that the consultant had looked through her notes and wanted me to go for an appointment with him, so that he could "clarify the diagnosis". Needless to say, that was discouraging news, and I'm ashamed to admit that I reacted really badly to it, which undid some of the recent efforts that A and I have been putting in to trust / communication in the marriage.

This has taken some of the focus off of general weight fears, and prompted me to invest a little less in making myself pretty and a little more in making my marriage / day-to-day life work. It's pretty shallow to insist that the thing you most urgently need to fix is your muffin-top, when there's clearly something wrong with the whole way that your mind works.

But that doesn't make it any more fun to watch yourself getting fatter and fatter and fatter and fatter.

I'm not as depressed as this post makes me sound. Life, for the most part, is good.

Bullet bitten

Well, I finally weighed in today, and... it wasn't as bad as I was expecting *small smile*

Don't get me wrong, I'm not where I want to be. That's not even in sight at the moment. But it wasn't as scary as I thought it might be :) Current BMI 19.8 = 9lbs away from being technically underweight. I just feel like if I was there maybe I could breathe a little easier. Once you're underweight you can't be fat, surely..? But until then, well, it's all subjective. You could be huge for all you know.

Yes, it's better to have something solid to measure against. I'm sure doctors make those BMI height/weight charts. And they must be right. You don't go to school for a hundred years and not know what is and isn't fat.

9lbs. Now don't screw this up.

Control

It's something I'm out of. Well, in some respects at least. I feel like I've been doing (a tiny, tiny bit) better at controlling my moods, checking what I say before it comes out of my mouth etc. But I'm eating everything in sight. I don't know what's wrong with me. If I'd taken any chances at all, I'd think I was pregnant (please God no), but A and I have been really careful. As much as I want to be a mother, I'm still getting used to and enjoying being married. I like our little family of two for now :)

I haven't weighed myself for about ten days; it's got to be the longest stretch in years. But I just don't want to know right now. Not knowing doesn't mean not speculating, though. The sun is out, but the downside of wearing little summer clothes is being always confronted with the sight of your own body. How does it get to the point where you know you're huge and disgusting, but you just keep trowelling it in regardless?

Don't get me wrong, things are going well and I feel generally calm towards the world. But towards myself, I feel a little blue. I'm just not sure how it got to this state, and I feel stuck here. I know what I have to do, but I can't summon up the drive to do it. I have this friend who tells me she's pretty much resigned herself to being fat and people can just like it or lump it, and while I really admire that attitude in her I don't want it in myself! (Hypocrite much..?) I don't want to resign myself to this! I don't want to be like this for the rest of my life! But a good 80% of me is saying, "There's nothing you can do. This is who you are, it's who you'll always be. Just learn to live with it." and that little 20% that wants to keep trying is struggling to drown it out.

This afternoon I had a minor realisation. Probably far less interesting to anyone else than it is to me, but I'm going to go with it anway.  I've always hated lying in bed - I hate lie-ins, I hate not falling asleep straight away, I hate lying down in the middle of the day for a rest - but I've never understood why, because I looove to sleep :) Today I went to lie down with A for a few minutes in the afternoon, and realised that every time you get into bed, there's something touching your whole body. A mattress, or sheets, or pillows, or duvets - argh, there's something lying against every square inch of you! I'd always wondered why I felt fattest in bed, and now I know: because you can't help but be aware of your body when the whole bloody thing's being touched! Not sure how to get around this one - pretty sure a fear of lying down is a fast-track to the crazy ward...