Tonight, I lost it. I was supposed to go to a friend's house for dinner (and eat some very comforting Jewish food), and half an hour before I was due at the Caltrain station I made the mistake of getting dressed.
Now, it's really cold right now in SF, so I had to put on tights. This doesn't usually concern me too much, but when I put on my go-to pink dress (the one I'm wearing in that photo in the earlier post, about how confident I was), it was tight. And not good tight. I looked disgusting. All of a sudden, when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was fat, rolling and spilling like a lidless latte in an SUV. And so I lost it.
I went back to a mentality I do my best to avoid; I was furious, disgusted, and, worse, hopeless. I wanted to break the mirror. I actually wanted to scream, or throw things, or punch a wall. Another part of me just wanted to crawl into bed and give up. Mostly I just cried.
The worst part was that I had to cancel on my friends. This may not seem like a big deal to most people, but to me, flaking on plans is unacceptable. Especially twice in a row, and I backed out of plans with this friend last Saturday. So here I was, bawling and trying to hold myself back from physical action, and I just kept trying to wipe my face off and put on a different outfit and get out the door. After all, I was all ready and I'd even baked cookies.
But eventually my boyfriend, who luckily for me (if not for him) was with me, called my friend and told her what was going on, then sat me on the couch with a mug of tea and a blanket. As awful as I felt about flaking, it was the right call. Every time I thought about smiling and chatting with people I burst into tears again.
The really frustrating thing about meltdowns like this is that I can't just tell myself that it's all in my head, because the proof is in the pudding; my clothes don't fit. And I just can't figure out WHY. I've been busting my ass at the gym, and denying myself all kinds of goodies, and I've lost a couple of pounds but overall I'm feeling entirely unsuccessful. And I know it takes time, but the worst of it is that I don't see an end to either struggle– whether it's to lose weight or to feel okay about my body.
I feel like this will always be my life– feeling okay because I've distracted myself from how I really feel about my body, then periodically hitting rock bottom– and in all honesty it's in those moments where I see the future that I'm more afraid of life than death.
Now, it's really cold right now in SF, so I had to put on tights. This doesn't usually concern me too much, but when I put on my go-to pink dress (the one I'm wearing in that photo in the earlier post, about how confident I was), it was tight. And not good tight. I looked disgusting. All of a sudden, when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was fat, rolling and spilling like a lidless latte in an SUV. And so I lost it.
I went back to a mentality I do my best to avoid; I was furious, disgusted, and, worse, hopeless. I wanted to break the mirror. I actually wanted to scream, or throw things, or punch a wall. Another part of me just wanted to crawl into bed and give up. Mostly I just cried.
The worst part was that I had to cancel on my friends. This may not seem like a big deal to most people, but to me, flaking on plans is unacceptable. Especially twice in a row, and I backed out of plans with this friend last Saturday. So here I was, bawling and trying to hold myself back from physical action, and I just kept trying to wipe my face off and put on a different outfit and get out the door. After all, I was all ready and I'd even baked cookies.
But eventually my boyfriend, who luckily for me (if not for him) was with me, called my friend and told her what was going on, then sat me on the couch with a mug of tea and a blanket. As awful as I felt about flaking, it was the right call. Every time I thought about smiling and chatting with people I burst into tears again.
The really frustrating thing about meltdowns like this is that I can't just tell myself that it's all in my head, because the proof is in the pudding; my clothes don't fit. And I just can't figure out WHY. I've been busting my ass at the gym, and denying myself all kinds of goodies, and I've lost a couple of pounds but overall I'm feeling entirely unsuccessful. And I know it takes time, but the worst of it is that I don't see an end to either struggle– whether it's to lose weight or to feel okay about my body.
I feel like this will always be my life– feeling okay because I've distracted myself from how I really feel about my body, then periodically hitting rock bottom– and in all honesty it's in those moments where I see the future that I'm more afraid of life than death.
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