TW weight, eating disorders, a lot of f-bombs because that’s my favorite word
Have a cute puppy spacer picture before the content starts.
Back in college (I’m 33 now) I was borderline bulimic for about a year. Well, I’ve had disordered eating since about 3rd grade, but freshman year was when it really snowballed thanks to gaining that freshman 15 plus already being fat. Plus low self-esteem, etc. Feeling like I was already the fattest fatty fat who ever fatted through life in high school.
I exercised and dieted, normally, until I plateaued. And then I made the very conscious decision to just not eat sufficient amounts of food while doing 2-3 hours of cardio a day. And then I decided to eat foods which triggered my food allergies (digestive issues) when out with friends so I could pass as normal but I would know within 60 minutes that food would be vacating my body. See, it wasn’t bad bad since I wasn’t making myself throw up, you see. It was just eating things that would make me sick, but in my head that wasn’t the same as shoving a finger down my own throat to puke.
And then I plateaued. Again. So I decided to eat even less. Because hey, it was fine as long as I was losing weight. Eating disorders only happened to super thin girls, not gross fat women like me. I remember even seeing this super thin girl over-exercise at the gym and worrying about her because she looked like she had an eating disorder (while I was eating 800-1000 calories a day plus still doing 2-3 hours of cardio).
And then I plateaued. At 183.4 lbs. No matter what I did, for 12 fucking weeks I plateaued there. I was miserable. I was ill. I was still fat. And then I gave up, because I felt like what kind of person is such a failure that they can’t even successfully starve themselves to lose weight. I was such a fucking failure I couldn’t even lose weight with an eating disorder.
Fast forward 8 years. 8 years of yo-yo dieting and continual weight gain cycles. Lose 10 lbs, gain 15 back. At my largest, 270 lbs. It’s depressing as fuck when well-meaning people say, “well just try to lose half a pound to a pound of weight a week!” because the math on that if you need to lose 100 pounds is you are looking at 2-4 years of dieting. And we all know how easy it is to fail at a diet (even a healthy one, unlike my college experience).
Then in 2010 I decided that I would just try to lose 10-15 lbs a year. That wasn’t so restrictive that I would crash and burn. It wasn’t at a tempo which would motivate me to fall back into really unhealthy behaviors.
Admittedly, some years I lost 20 lbs. Some years I regained weight and then stabilized it and lost a little of the regain. Some years were a dead even.
As of February of this year, my weight has been hovering around 184 lbs. Sometimes up to 187 if I ate too much sodium or carbs, etc. But just not fucking moving. And I realized it was the same thing that happened to me at 19. Weeks of myfitnesspal saying some variation of “if you did this every day, you’d weigh 180 lbs in 5 weeks.” and nothing ever changing on that damn scale.
This time around, I decided fuck it back in late March. Maybe it won’t ever drop below 183.4 or even 184 lbs. You know what? SO WHAT. I’m not 270 lbs anymore. Compared to where I was, 184 is fucking fantastic. I’m just going to keep on tracking my calories and going to the gym and getting ready for my cruise. And then this happened yesterday morning.
I wasn’t even excited. Back when I hit 184 I was so excited. Success, here I come! A week or 2 and I would be able to stick my middle finger at that asshole 183.4 and show it who’s boss. Actually seeing it below 183.4? No emotion at all. No relief. No excitement. No tears. Nothing. I took the picture because I felt like if it was a fluke and today I was back to 184 at least I’d have proof it happened that one time.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend half of yesterday fighting with the thought “well now that I’ve finally gotten below that fucking 183.4 I probably shouldn’t eat today to help it stay there.”
That fucking ghost is going to haunt me forever. I guess I stupidly hoped that somehow if I could get below that fucking 183.4 I wouldn’t still be fixated on it? I should have known better — I’ve kept it in my mind as a grand example of personal failure for 16 damn years.
I did eat yesterday. Normally. I had 3 healthy meals and went to the gym as normal (I resisted the urge to do a shit ton more cardio as “insurance” my weight wouldn’t go back up over 183.4). I did not starve myself nor binge as a reward for it.
Today I ate normally. I will do this. I will not abuse myself (again) in the attempt to lose weight.