Yesterday I had a total meltdown. Deep into week three of my workout program, I was starting the third and most difficult video after two days of extreme-cramp-related slacking. I got through five minutes before I wanted to throw the television across the room. I made it another twenty-five before I gave up and went to take an incredibly frustrated bath. Once clean, and somewhat calmed (repressed), I did the what-to-wear dance, battle number two. After my boyfriend chose an outfit and convinced me to leave the bedroom battlefield, strewn with the casualties of my fray with myself, I went to deal with my hair.
A bit of battle history now: my hair was my best feature when I was fat. It was thick and lush and curly/wavy/versatile, and it was generally easy to deal with. When I lost a hundred pounds I also lost half my hair. It became wispy and difficult and generally looks best short. In the past seven years I’ve spent way too much time and money trying to make it do what I want it to do, and the result was usually straightening. As a result of all this stress, I seem to have lost my curl. Not entirely, though, which is almost more frustrating because it means I still hold out hope. For example, during my senior year of college, for one glorious night, my hair curled perfectly for the Chancellor’s Ball. I’m including a picture for reference:
Since then, I’ve had sporadic moments of curly lusciousness, due mostly to hundreds of dollars worth of products, but the battle rages on. It is, in a word, exhausting. And any of you who know me well know that exhaustion is the one physical state that really acts as a catalyst for my ever-growing insanity. Whether it’s lack of sleep or recovery from surgery, physical exhaustion loves to bring me to the edge of the cliff and poke me with increasing force until I finally teeter over.
But what got me last night wasn’t just the hair. Because I did end up just surrendering and putting it up. However, after the hair came the meltdown itself, including wall-hitting and terrifying of my own ally (the boyfriend, who thinks I’m certifiable and on the verge of becoming a cutter). And after the meltdown came multiple battles to keep from crying on the street, and then another clothing battle when I made us go home so I could change.
The good news is that the trip out to the gay boyfriends’ house was far enough to give me time to recover. Or at least re-cover. The bad news is that I didn’t resolve anything.
I’m so so tired of fighting with myself. The battles never end. It’s a war of attrition!
Since I became aware of being fat I’ve been fighting with my body.
Since the Gastric Bypass in 2001 I’ve been fighting with my mind, trying to be happy with my body. This battle has carried on through three more (cosmetic) surgeries and is still being waged every day.
Since the GB I’ve been fighting with my hair. And my body, still. Neither seems willing to submit to my desperate and often persistent attempts to change them.
The worst thing is that now I don’t know what to do about my workouts. Because it’s a 6-week program, and I’m not even halfway through. The awful truth is I can feel it working, firming up my body and making me feel better about my body (when my team is winning, that is), but I’m not sure I can stand the workout itself anymore. It just frustrates me, and not because it’s difficult, although it is. I’m just so FUCKING BORED with it. And how can anybody be peppy and bouncy when bored? If you know, please help. Because I don’t know how to get through an hour with Debbie Siebers and not hurl myself at a wall just to change things up a bit.
For today I’m just going to try to push myself through it and risk another meltdown. Is it worth having firm ab muscles if your mind is reduced to mush by multiple mental breakdowns?
A bit of battle history now: my hair was my best feature when I was fat. It was thick and lush and curly/wavy/versatile, and it was generally easy to deal with. When I lost a hundred pounds I also lost half my hair. It became wispy and difficult and generally looks best short. In the past seven years I’ve spent way too much time and money trying to make it do what I want it to do, and the result was usually straightening. As a result of all this stress, I seem to have lost my curl. Not entirely, though, which is almost more frustrating because it means I still hold out hope. For example, during my senior year of college, for one glorious night, my hair curled perfectly for the Chancellor’s Ball. I’m including a picture for reference:
Since then, I’ve had sporadic moments of curly lusciousness, due mostly to hundreds of dollars worth of products, but the battle rages on. It is, in a word, exhausting. And any of you who know me well know that exhaustion is the one physical state that really acts as a catalyst for my ever-growing insanity. Whether it’s lack of sleep or recovery from surgery, physical exhaustion loves to bring me to the edge of the cliff and poke me with increasing force until I finally teeter over.
But what got me last night wasn’t just the hair. Because I did end up just surrendering and putting it up. However, after the hair came the meltdown itself, including wall-hitting and terrifying of my own ally (the boyfriend, who thinks I’m certifiable and on the verge of becoming a cutter). And after the meltdown came multiple battles to keep from crying on the street, and then another clothing battle when I made us go home so I could change.
The good news is that the trip out to the gay boyfriends’ house was far enough to give me time to recover. Or at least re-cover. The bad news is that I didn’t resolve anything.
I’m so so tired of fighting with myself. The battles never end. It’s a war of attrition!
Since I became aware of being fat I’ve been fighting with my body.
Since the Gastric Bypass in 2001 I’ve been fighting with my mind, trying to be happy with my body. This battle has carried on through three more (cosmetic) surgeries and is still being waged every day.
Since the GB I’ve been fighting with my hair. And my body, still. Neither seems willing to submit to my desperate and often persistent attempts to change them.
The worst thing is that now I don’t know what to do about my workouts. Because it’s a 6-week program, and I’m not even halfway through. The awful truth is I can feel it working, firming up my body and making me feel better about my body (when my team is winning, that is), but I’m not sure I can stand the workout itself anymore. It just frustrates me, and not because it’s difficult, although it is. I’m just so FUCKING BORED with it. And how can anybody be peppy and bouncy when bored? If you know, please help. Because I don’t know how to get through an hour with Debbie Siebers and not hurl myself at a wall just to change things up a bit.
For today I’m just going to try to push myself through it and risk another meltdown. Is it worth having firm ab muscles if your mind is reduced to mush by multiple mental breakdowns?
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