I need therapy. I’ve known this for a while, but I’m just coming to terms with it now. I need to be able to talk to a professional counselor about what’s going on inside me, negative events from my past, and help me get to the root of my “fat girl.” Although my external appearance says size 4-6, many days I still feel and see that size 16. Everyday, I fear waking up as her. Everyday, I fear losing control and being stuck in that unhappy place, unable to escape. I lived in that dark place for 90% of my life. It became part of my identity. My size was my value. I blamed my parents so long for my size circumstances, without giving myself and my eating habits any consideration. I could easily wolf down a box of Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese, 4 ice cream sandwiches, 2 packages of Top Ramen noodles… all in 1 meal. I felt so empty inside.
Since losing the weight, my life has been run by two separate people it seems: skinnybody, the one who is noticed now, treated good at first impression, checked out, listened to, valued and appreciated. The other is fathead, the persona I was born with, grew up with, will eternally be apart of me, of who I am. fathead is never far away when I begin feeling good about myself, eagar to sprinkle on some doubt, worry, shame, embarassment. fathead still doesn’t believe I can be a fit, healthy woman, that I can keep this weight off, that I don’t have to run to food when someone hurts my feelings/things don’t go my way.
I thought that once I lost these 72 pounds, I’d have the life I always dreamed of having. Well, skinny jeans are nice. But not so nice when your inner critic still wants you to shave off another 5 pounds, lose another few inches from your hips, makes liposuction seem appealing to remove that last little bit of jiggle on my abs.
Sometimes working out is torture for me, because I know it’s been a huge factor in helping me reach this weight and this size. I feel so guilty on days when I miss it, skip it, schedule things on top of it, things that need to happen, too. I fear that by missing that one workout, I’ll start spinning out of control and wake up to 207 pounds again. On frequent occassions, even when I’m exhausted, fathead scares me into working out, tells me I’ll never be happy in a bikini or even consider stepping out in one if I miss that one workout. Fathead urges me to binge on junk food “just because.” Thankfully, I’ve only let her win a number of times that I could count on one hand.
I control every calorie, every measure and write it down. I’m thankful I haven’t gotten to the point of restricting gobs of them (I’m still at 1,800 every day), becoming frail and broken. That scares me, too. I never want to be a corpse. There’s a very thin line, walking between self-esteem and pride. On the other end of that spectrum lies defeat, depression, self-doubt. I feel like I fall into that category.
At 135 pounds, skinnybody turns the heads of men and fathead tells me they must be looking at someone else. After finishing my first half marathon, skinnybody rewards me with a sub-2 hour finishing time, while fathead scoffs and tells me it wasn’t fast enough.
I feel like I’ll always be waging this war between the two of… me. It seemed the more pronouced skinnybody became, I grew to know her, liked her, wanted to be her everyday for the rest of my life.
Weight loss doesn’t guarantee a new life (emotionally). These are things I want to work on and work out with a therapist. I hope one day I’ll be (almost) free of fathead, or atleast be able to disarm her better.
I’m in this for the long haul.